AFTER 900 HOURS ON THE INTERNET

The Weeknd the Morning

Last nights mascara makes my lashes stick together

Warm cool sheets fill the spaces between my fingers

My eyelids part opening the floodgates-

remember 

what 

happened 

last 

night

Que the montage of crossed legs 

and

Laughter 

A dozen applications of lipstick in tiny mirrors held by a manicured hand 

or in the dim light of a grafiti bathroom.

Slow blinks during conversations 

when eyes meet eyes that call for eyes.

And cheeks rise 

in city lights

"I dropped my bag! 

Pass me that napkin please! 

You're the sweetest man I've ever seen"

And there he is, unawakened by the roar of the imagery I piece together.

Should I stay or should I go?