the morning after (is a bitter) pill

her sheets are still as pristine
as the last time i spent the night

the morning sun is making its way
into every crevice of her apartment

this place is so white
white walls
white sheets
white curtains
white tile
white coffee cup

which i have just emptied

a cup which she had brought
more in an effort to gently
facilitate my departure

i try to act like i don't notice
or that it doesn't bother me
but my shoes are on
and i forego the perfunctory kiss
and head out her door

on the sidewalk i light a smoke
and shrug
she is right
i don't belong here

my studio apartment is many miles away
i make my way to a bus stop
sit down
and let the contents from my flask
slam my empty stomach
while the ascending sun
orders me to remove my jacket

i just want to go home and sleep
and not wonder
how her gentleness made me feel
like i mattered
her hand stroking the back of my neck
as i slowly moved

then the morning sun
melted those memories
and what didn't evaporate
flowed into the gutter
which lead to this bus stop

where i sit in wrinkled clothes
hung over
hungry
in need of a shower
thinking about the words
of oscar wilde,
"everything in the world is about sex,
except sex,
sex is about power"

i get up and start walking
i'm david lee roth
in search of a bottle
and a glazed donut

***