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this exhaustion begs for sleep,
for eyes to wrinkle shut at night,
but instead i recline, thoughts awake,
twisted into a contortionist's orgasm,
contemplating the caffeine
in a half-empty can of pepsi,
longing to write the lyrics
of a raspy-voiced man
who insists on singing
about women i do not know.
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I had to read your poem because it said it was by smackalicious, and that's too funny to pass up. I was rewarded by something pretty original. Thanks for writing it. I really like the raspy-voiced man at the end. That was a good detail. In fact I think the second half following orgasm is pretty great. Which is strange because I usually like everything before an orgasm the most. Sorry I couldn't resist.
