Bleating telephone bells
shook my eyelids – threw back
the covers & screamed in morning’s
over exposed high key racket,
like a sharp rap on the front door
after a late night blunt in reverse.
The awkward stench of fading organs
took issue with the sickly sweet
of her perfume – it threatened
to break the ice. His head tilted
back on crisp bloated pillows,
a gaping mouth set in times
perpetual yawn. It was like
he didn’t know where to look.