languid

i've gotten drunk enough times
and written enough idiot things
to know when not to write you
letters when i'm drinking.
but the clock radio flings
your songs across hotel bathroom walls
so that they languish upon my shoulders
where i've hung your flannel.
i had thought we were acqitted, but
i know you'd agree that here
it's perfect weather in cali
for another park flooding ell ess dee.
no classic sunburn now,
but red beneath my
eyes like old war paint.