He gets up late
Morning is pitch black in the apartment
Curtains are matte black and he keeps them closed shut
In the fridge, half-empty carton of milk
Who’s a happy guy
Croissant and a black coffee
Always with his coffee
Always with his coffee
The hardware store
Middle aged men in a lineup
Hands in pockets
Cigarettes littered on the ground
All around
He’s meeting his friends
Always leans on one side
Always leans on one side
Small chuckles emit
He’s a wild man
Untamable and sharp
Crisp with his wit and cold when he’s bitter
Cold when he’s bitter
And he’s always bitter
Like a sour fruit you knew would be sour but tried again
And it hit you worse than the first time
But when he laughs it erupts
And for him I dress up lush
Though I know he’s corrupt
Though I know he’s corrupt
He is almost mine
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