in my PJs when I saw
him through the apartment
window I was gawking
out of. It was barely 5pm
and the man, young
like me, was walking with
a brown paper clothed bottle
that seemed to weigh him,
down to his feet. I couldn't
help but to worry.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Coffee
The men I sleep
with make darn
good coffee. I find
the delicious bitterness
a change from
the deceiving sweetness
I taste in the black
mud served
at the place I called
home with people
I call family.
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