Friday Night Poem by Dwayne Gordon

Friday Night



It is raining, and I’m tormented, yes I want to have sex
I’m here alone, my wife is gone and Charley is getting upset
Rainy day, lonely night what can I do?
Try to call my wife just to hear her voice, I ear, “I’m sorry, your call cannot go through”
This sort of thing I don’t like – I’m telling you the truth
I’m worried to hell what might happen – it doesn’t look cute
You don’t know what you have until it’s gone; it’s a song, but true
All you get is a text every twelve hours, saying, “Baby I miss you”
This sort of shit freaks me out, I’m telling you this for real
Like a bullet piercing my chest, yes; that’s the pain I feel
Couples of days to go, can’t wait, I want you know
I love you, I missed you; and yes – I won’t let you go.

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