stench

It clings to the sofa, the crumpled pile of sheets,
like perfume gone sour,
it catches in the drain
and streaks the mirror.
Candles can’t hide the smell,
and if you leave it long enough
it clots like spoiled milk.
You’ll think about it first thing in the morning,
and last thing before sleep,
retching and heaving
into shallow, wild dreams.

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