Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Richie Hoffman


Coquelicot

I pretend to sleep when he leaves.

He rubs his thumb across my chapped lips,

he touches the hair grown long around my ears.

I remember smelling him and the garrigue.

I leave by fast train, passing through suburbs,

poverty, dilapidated buildings so close

to destruction from within, poppies in full sun,

the blurring dross, the violet

graffiti, then nothing. My dirty clothes

packed above me, the t-shirt that carries his smell,

the weak black pepper of him, the t-shirt

he wiped his penis with.

I’m afraid of falling asleep,

because I will desire him in my sleep.


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