friday

she’s wearing his boxers
& a rock concert t-shirt
(smells like honey & feels like rain)
making nonsense conversation
with her buttered waffles
& playing mozart’s sonata in c major
on the coffee-stained tabletop

she’s wearing combat boots today
laced with leftover punk
& kiss-my-ass attitude
lips stained cherry cola red
tasting sweet pop/rock beat
pouring from her pink headphones
& her music aches inside her
screaming£ing&relentless
& she’s bleeding eighth notes
singing the high harmony

she needs to feel it
(feel something)
but today it’s never loud enough

4.1.08

(There are 87 words in this poem...hmm...)