Matchbook Cuckoo by Chris Lawrence

from the restaurant
to the motel room,
the kisses,
the murmurs
naked on sagged
mattress
struggle and convene
inhale,
exhale,
is their meaning
or is this oblivion,
in aftermaths glow
sipping tan water
from a mug,
rubbing teethmarks
on her shoulder,
his sleep
prevailing with the
air conditioning,
she knew
in a tangent of a
second that
she was nothing
more..