Sleepless from a dream of
Scotch-Irish eyes meeting mine
as he closes in for a kiss,
I linger at the open window
let humidity stifle my desires.
It takes a while.
I lay back down, pretending
I can feel his heat
against me, but know he is
oblivious to my heart.
In his sound slumber he
dreams instead of World Cup
finals – Slainte! and that
long ago girl he can’t forget.

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