Sunday Night In July

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No light no longer
               No longer young
Decommissioned ship in the harbor
               Eleven floors down
Elegant still
               Naked then on twisted hotel sheets
               Restless as a taxicab
               Sunday night in July
A night
               Following a day following a night
Sunlight not once disturbing the
               Prurient darkness of air-conditioned anonymity
               Mascara-streaked pillowcase
               Necktie carelessly discarded on the carpet
Slender fingers
               Nicotine-stained
               Nervously twisting through unkempt hair
Glamorous yesterday
               Bedhead now
Give me space
               First give me a light
Deceit sticks to the skin in the ugliest manner
               Like humidity
Her husband is on the phone
               I’ll step out
But can’t
               Walk away

©2015 j.g. lewis

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