May 2005 / Volume Six / Issue Three
Chris Kornacki
empty room

itís dark and raining
and i have a headache
like the weight of the Himalayas
is being pushed down
against my temples
the rain keeps pounding on
my window
as blasts of thunder and lightning
go off like bright grenades
as police sirens wail
down the street
as someoneís car alarm
screams in the distance
as a passing train
sounds its whistle
as i sit here on the floor
in this empty room
aching with the thought
of once again
dragging my lips across
the trembling surface
of your soft inner thighs
and that rain keeps pounding on
my window
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