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Hours Of Sin
December 9, 2014
I crack open the barred window, the grime still crawling in.
Her drowse is botched by our soft ghost friend-
Now I’m dizzy kissing your hands and,
Heard muffled sirens, smooth in the hours of sin.
Girl God in our space; all this sleazy smoke and
No sober sense.
How the hell she move like that in some dark black jeans?
I watch him dancing, drooling brandy-
Our hairlines crash my bedroom floor,
Guess we’re not so fancy.
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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