I leave tomorrow

I only sleep with men of substance 

I only give myself 

to scholars 

You’re committed 

And I’m a wanderer 

But he knows 

And I leave tomorrow 

He’s in South America 

We’re in the Atlantic northeast 

Pulling creases from silk sheets 

Popping glocks at the summer breeze

You’ve lived this version of me 

nearly three times 

and that calms me down 

As I rub knots from your back 

and ask about your students 

This is not subject to change 

And I am feeling OK

because I’ll walk away ahead 

I’ll get off on your intellectual capacity 

knowing there’s a brain in your skull

Not just fire trucks racing 

to paint your girth 

You’ve done well for yourself 

And we may not speak again 

But I know that I’m capable 

of building a story such as yours 

Now having been tangled up 

with you 


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