No Treble

Gone are the days of early morning tragedies.
Now time is filled with wide-eyed vixens I doubt

I’ll ever spot outside of a black dress.
Every house should have a dog and a cat
and they should get along. I tell her this and she laughs.

Remember what they say about all work and no play.
That’s an order, not a question. We work and we play.

Outside of a childhood crusade of sardines, if skin touches
skin over some extended time, it’s got to mean something.

Wildly, I search for a meaning. Oh. You’re mixed with cigarettes
on my fingers, and she stirs her champagne, what a trip.

I label you treble for a variety of reasons: you rhyme,
you relate to trouble. I’m done.

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