I’d fall in love with you this Thursday afternoon
after the rain, after the storm, on my way home
when the roads would sparkle with shiny pearls,
freshly harvested in a dark cloud.
the day after, I’ll sink into unconscious,
like a ship at the bottom of the ocean,
like a fly in a jar of honey, until dead.
Sunday I’ll reserve for recovery
I’d stay in bed till noon, watch the boat
of the hangover safely sail through
the withdrawal of you.
and Monday morning I’ll start anew.
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