Bedfellows

If I had a choice, and of course I do.
The last time, we all get that one fleeting thought that decides to hang around.
I’ve spent too many hours here,
too many days pondering you.
Plug the hole with so many artifacts of the past,
the clouds overhang and the cigarette butts within kicking distance, once flicked– and attached to the mouths of strangers.
We all lie in bed, we spend- countless hours, to defend
our right to be careless or reckless, one in the same.

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