Waterlogged

The day that you leave,
I put on my black bustier
and my hoe-leather jeans,
and I go out and fuck.

Somewhere along the strip,
you taught me sex was a cure
for our unaligned ailments,
an old-country ward of desire.

It’s how we reclaim the past,
stacked wood wet and rotting
like so many cancelled glances.
But it isn’t a way to move on.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/95scm3/thrice_worst_my_love/?st=JKM0YFML&sh=6073ba66

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/95fx2x/dance_with_a_dinosaur/?st=JKM0NYRZ&sh=4493d886