escher poetry — [E]

I’m young. It’s a sleepover. It’s morning.

I’m in the corner of a room, on a bare single mattress, in a sleeping bag. Four other guys, in bags, asleep, fill the floor.

I’ve woken. A young woman, brunette, lithe, in dark underware, is standing over me. She’s looking at me. I open up my sleeping bag, like a DeLorean door. She comes in, I wrap, we snuggle.

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