Cabin rockin don't come knockin.

Drunk young futurewinos like layers in a cold cake,

sweet freckles bundled clothes rocking with me

hours it seems, not a chance in the world to

take it home.

Drunk and never feeling it until after trundling

off the back of the truck, not fucked or touched,

just wet and smelling like the sweat of the

workers in the vinyards who imagine romance

corked in every bottle.

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saiom's picture

i believe i died in a gutter in a previous life
... may none follow my past path