Hermes; a message too late.

He flew in on a red eye.
The tall one that I fooled around with last summer.
After I called him yesterday afternoon.
Flew in like Hermes;
A message too late.

He looks like a zombie.
He was walking through the hospital.
In only his dress socks
And without shoes. What a dirty hippy.
He thinks that putting orange peels in his shoes will make them smell better.

The chemist in me thinks that, rather, the two will mix to a nauseating cloud that will then hang over the waiting room like an indecisive hurricane.
That’s all we need is another natural disaster to clean up afterwards.

I don’t want to tell him that tomorrow only the family will be allowed to see the sick one in his new room
On the dying floor. It’s going to break his heart;
They are his family.

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