With dawn comes

With dawn comes
twitches in her half sleep and my room
brightens despite the dark curtains.
I shift, watch her pillow creased
face through half slits.

Her name is missing somewhere between
first pint and first kiss.

I pretend to sleep, cheap perfume
clinging to me like she did last night,
her legs a mix of muscle and flab —
an office girl who runs twice a week.

She bolts upright and snatches up clothes, tries to wipe

a cum stain off her red polyester skirt;
stuffs her laddered tights in her bag.