The booze makes an early riser

 Dry lips and

Ex-girlfriends in my
Dreams. I must be ill.

Outside, the crows of
October mark their return
And I light another cigarette
In the dark, balls swinging

In-between, and play out
The play for all it is,
Paying the price for my
Independence and realising

I need no-one anymore.
She messages me to
Enquire of any improvement.
“Still full of **** snot”,

I reply, separated by this
Damned Atlantic, wishing you
Or anyone were here
To lay my head on those

Warm and milky breasts.
You tell me about your
Son and I suspect him on
The spectrum but what do

I know? I’m just another
Man that wipes his arse
Clean and fluctuates on
The edge of my own personal

Madness. “I do love talking
To you”, she says. Without
Any hint of horse-trading,
I type back, ”Me too”. I see

The dots as she types and
Await her answers.

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