Six Hundred and Fifty

laying in the bed
didn’t make it better.
you smear mayonnaise

on the pillowcase
and laugh as she wakes
up in it, gagging.

the pool of sweat
cakes the sheets
from the night

before. you murmur
nothings in her ear
wanting, needing.

scratching at your
unhappiness you pray
to be worshipped.

the toilet overflows
and your hairs are
in the peaches.