Tuesday morning
I crawled out of bed
careful not to wake you
and dressed
for a smoke.
You woke up after I was dressed
I kissed your head and said not to worry
you were too tired to stay angry
and went back to bed.
My first step outside landed in shit
and I forgot my lighter.
After all the shit was kicked
stomped
and wiped off
and I had my cigarette
I spent the morning with you.
You stayed home from the funeral
and fucked me instead.
I thought about all those sad sad eyes
and heavy heavy hearts
dressed in all black
feeling down
with there eyes pointed at their feet
standing on the graveyard soil
while our pale and soft
collided and came
while we
collided and came
in your warm bed
that morning.
You are
my excuse to remember not to mourn
but live.
