Sick Day

by Kevin Kuhlman

I wake up from a deep sleep with dried drool along my face
Your hair is a mess but you smile

Your breath is warm; your kiss heavily lies on my cheek
I roll out of bed, hardwood cold runs through my toes

You go for a run
I sit in my underwear watching a rerun of Married With Children

You return with sweat seeping through your tank top
You are beet red and smell of shampoo

I power through the breakfast that you make
It’s all organic shit but someone has to eat it

We run some errands, grab some mediocre iced coffee
You offer to pay and I won’t let that happen

The slightest grin grew along the side of your mouth
You turn to say something to me

I wake up again
Sweaty condensation riddles my blanketed legs

A brittle cough lazily erupts from the pit of my stomach
Phlegm gathers. I chew a little and swallow

God, I wish it were real.

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