Better than I can

She studies in the early hours,
high on the smell of bleach, she powers
through the politics of home,
the official definitions make her feel quite alone
and the way her head spins is possibly
not quite conducive to creativity
but she writes because thirty six hours
are needed, thirty six away from the time it takes to shower.
And anyway, she takes breaks for poetry.
Filled with love and nonchalance and woe is me,
sometimes brave enough to throw in some
honesty, and even when she is done
there will be room for three more.
The one on her tongue five times better than before
and all for you, rough face, rough hands,
safe: safe: safe and loving man.

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