The space between you and everything else is by far my most seductive feature;
the drink in my hand is undressing you with it's eyes
and the lips of the glass want to slide over yours
and pour
in some kind of temporary toxic love potion
to lube your emotional gears
and dig up all those woebegone bones you'd thought you'd buried
in soils of apathy.
Back with a broken half-assed vengence
and a rattling breath exhaling burning vodka vapors
and filling the sheets with a blustery booze filled anger
that never quite came to fruition.
In winning and losing I celebrate the same;
And giving up is the same pink hue
Of cranberry juice diluted with Fleischmann's finest.
----------------------------
I can't call you from beneath a silencing slipping wave of water.
Fills my mouth and the hollows of my scars that can be traced
like a maze of many different and deceptive outcomes
that are truly the same path seen in differing shades or bruising lights,
hot like summer, but really a cold winter night.
How does the view look to you?
Is the fog too thick to see my face or are you pretending to be blind?
I am your mirror masquerding as a flattering painting of our weaknesses;
turning excuses to reasons.
Let's make a blanket over us instead of inbetween.
