from squeezing the night before
when I scratch my face
after buzzing her in downstairs.
She clatters by me
as though she rents the place
in a whirlwind of bags and winterwear
giving half a kiss in passing.
I stand in lucky boxers
and hungover bewilderment
unfairly agitated
that she never removes her shoes
at the door
but I sober myself
admitting
that I haven't swept since summer
and she hasn't arrived
to inspect my cleanliness.
It's quite the opposite
thank God.
Currently reading:
"The Regulators" by Stephen King (writing as Richard Bachman).
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