After, thoughts,
The sweating swoosh of infatuation,
The gripping, ripping, ride
Rolling cotton tides beneath us,
Its depth unknowing
We woke, fearful and aired our dirty linen,
Blotting the stains on our character,
It became an all-day affair of
Drowning, spinning, rinsing,
Wringing ourselves dry
The billowing bedclothes
Cling still to our confessions,
Till once more we are
wrapped in each other indelibly,
suffocating in this cloying warmth,
folding and pressing,
pressing and folding
Fresh sheets,
Smoothing the creases
Back into the closet
Out of sight
Out of mind
As the clouds darken
And the guilt spits and spatters
Boiling over the leavings of love
Before the coming storm
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