Casual Manias

There is a tide in the skin. An undertow to touch. If i could only focus on one person long enough to drown again.

There is the night. Tiny mirrors breaking at random. There is sex. One of the many impotent addiction of the flesh. We never get high, but we're always hung over from it. We never say it matters because it doesn't.

There's a tea kettle whistling on the stove. There's a swipe in his grunt. The dull of blackboard after the lesson is done. I'm always inspecting those moments for answers. And much to my dismay. Finding them.

I can't make it wrong. Can't make it wrong. I"m just a little wrinkle in a sea of dirty sheets.

The casual manias of lovers trying to be friends.