come back in
the the specific dreary forms
of girls encountered daily
and at night
literally
in my dreams but
it's none so romantic when
the automaton dream-me slips
mole paw hands into their gamy end-of-the-day
skin in a tired facsimile
of sex.

Lord, wake me up
and give me a cup of tea
or a sinus-clearing shot of
vodka.
turn my nightly peep-show
off.