You Wake Red Wine Lips
Into Bedsheets Of Fallen Ash
And Cups Filled With Tarred Filters
Who Drown In Cold Separated Coffee
And No Thirst Left From All That Drinking
There's Hoarseness From Trusting Her Hips
On Drunken Occasions When Yours Clash
And Crash Before Her Morning Fag Ends
And Both Are Put Out Ever So Silently
And Drown In My Wishful Thinking
CK
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