Enero, 7

Sin. Sin. Sin. Sin of inertia gliding
you forward, long steps called habit, safety,
homeland security. The husband calls
home as soon as the tires turn to hit
the highway. Blinker. Drop your bag walking
through the door. A kiss goodnight. Sin. Sin. Sin.
No question where you may wake tomorrow,
in what bed, under what sheets, from what dream.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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