sick//politics

drinking tea
gnawing on cough drops,
foul scents.

watching the political news
general disgust, with pursed lips
your tongue glazed with medicine

blow your nose.
cough
cough
the anchorman analyzes

curled up in a blanket
our eyes close
blissfully unaware of the breaking news
of still uncounted votes

these votes don't have our voice
or they would smell of your sickness

raspy
and unaware.
the sound is lost, in the roar.

below standard

the thing is,
you don't even know.

we go out.

you know me, i know you
and yet here i am
writing words
sounding cliche
being exactly the way

i do not. want to be.
if only