First Edit: Late Night Blues

[Richard]

First Edit:

Late Night Blues

He doesn't know the time, but it's too late;
stinking of lipstick, buttons wrongly done.
His feet move effortlessly
like a tightrope walker who long ago
lost his fear of falling.

He smells his lover on his fingers,
pretends she has the scent of stardust
and other faraway bodies.

He lies down next to his wife,
eyes closed tight as a casket covered in earth,
fantasizes:
her skin purple, teeth white,
but she still has the aroma of dollar-store soap.
Her true odor distant as dates memorized
in high school history class.

Tired of balancing between loveless and lovely,
he readies for one last audible breath
from an audience eager to judge
such failures.


Original:
Late Night Blues

He doesn't know the time, but it's too late.
Breath stinking of lipstick,
buttons done wrong and missing,
his feet move gently
like a tightrope walker who long lost
any fear of falling.

He smells his lover on his fingers,
she has the scent of stardust
and other faraway bodies
he pretends to know.

He lies down next to his wife,
eyes tight as a casket covered in earth,
then he imagines

her skin purple, teeth white
as florescent lights that drown him daily.
Her hair reeks of cheap soap,
her true odor distant as dates they memorized
in their high school history class.

He dreams of never waking up,
tired of balancing between loveless and lovely,
ready for one last audible breath
from an audience ready to judge.