14215
A Rude Awakening
I smell of cigarettes and sweat, a
heady combination that invites intercourse at night and a shower in
the morning.
He's still in bed, the one whose brain
I borrow. I could join him now, unwashed, my hair cluttered in fluff
-filled tangles. He'd wake up, mumbling his way out of dreams,
crows' feet at the corners of his eyes deepening as he smiles.
Instead I announce “Coffee or sex?”
“Coffee,” he replies.
“You bastard.” I pull off my robe
and get into bed, feeling for that tell-tale sign of a manly morning.
“Ok then, neither,” he says,
stopping my hand.
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