Listening to Damien Rice
you perched precarious
atop faux granite countertop
lecturing me on Plath
two full glasses of wine
two packs of cigarettes
smoking our throats raw
trying to feel it all at once.
Then we'd go to bed
and I would take your clothes off
and you always looked good like that
and I would pull you into my mouth
and your back would arch in the moonlight
and in the living room
undeterred
Damien played on.
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