Walking home, 7:30 in the morning,
strange film coating my mouth.
Thick like that bottle of rum I downed last night.
Warm, the way you felt inside me.

Your first lay since you were locked up.
Ten days out of the pen,
and look, 
you're breaking the law again.

Lucky number 13, I told you
I'll stop counting at 100.
I left my number in pink lipstick
courtesy only, I don't expect you to call. 

7:30 in the morning,
sunshine hits me hard in the back of my eyes.
The mother of all hang-overs
sends me stumbling home

to a "Morning After Mary"
to the cold caress 
of unslept in sheets.
Stained, but clean.

(c) 2001 by (++)Laura(++). All Rights Reserved