I woke to adolescent longing for her
or at least how I imagine her to be.
And though I trained myself to drift
in hollow desire, I'm feverish now for a cure.
So I kill the dull echo of my twin bed
by forming my lips to whistle
a dream song more cheerful in its lust
like an open convertible in summer.
The road melts my tires and resolve
and I remember her again.
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