cold blows in through the open window
the duvet covers and you warm me
noise in the street, 3am garbage truck
rattling bottles, idling engine, putrid sweet smell
working men in meaningless conversation
the panes of glass slide down with a slam
you stir from the commotion groggy
the stench brings discourse
from the chaos of the west village street
comfortable warmth cradles us
the truck moves on into the night
contouring body puzzle pieces drift once again
back to the blissful oblivion with the sandman


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