dry clean only

February 22, 2010
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You've got one hundred count sheets,
One secret for every thread.
It's not intercourse, it’s an intermission
halfway to heaven and straight to the bar,
Eyes drooping from the strain of keeping quiet,
the red light of the clock burning your retinas.
Wash the sheets with your roommate’s detergent—
And pray to god your girlfriend doesn't find out.

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