snore.

he looked a lot like a face
i had loved for a millenia.
i thought to myself, "well this could be fun."

he knew no addresses
to cripple a drunk woman;
he called me "bro."
he called me "bro" until i licked
his lips shut.
then came the ego:

his giant body thrust inconsistant.
i lied counting the slits in my blinds
how many minutes more til sun up
as the alcohol convinced his punch.
he announced his release; i didn't beg
for it.
the weak spent beast collapsed
beside his silent tamer.

then came the meek roar,
the early morning symphony
i once sang along to with that
lover of the same face, a song
i'd grow to loathe.
he snored tunnel mouthed,
his breath waxy behind my ears.
i cracked my whip.
i shook the beast, poked the beast,
shooed the awfully familiar beast
into the waiting desolate morning
so i could weep my den clean.