when i wake up
at the crack of dawn,
way too early, but i'm
no longer thinking
about sex, and the flight
attendant, Debbie.
instead i'm
half dreaming and thinking
about buttermilk
biscuits,
piping hot from the oven.
the kind
that melt into your mouth,
little pasty clouds,
with the soft warm
crumbs tumbling
down my chin.
a stack of them
on a plate
with a stick of butter
near by.
i may be nearing
the end.
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