you only said it cuz you're drunk

He loves me,
he says.

He is drunk
with skunk
breath.

I love you.

He stumbles
and mumbles
vodka bubbles.

His timing is a sixth
sense,
but I don't want
inebriated gifts.
I want him and his.
I want his imperfects
and our skin to touch
when we sleep.

You're so good to me.

His gaze is glazed
cake.

And I'm an asshole,
he adds.

His confessions
swing
between us.
A boozed breeze
sings off key.

Do I forgive this?

that man ass hat
sits
lopsided
atop his head
and I dread that his
is his best
attempt.

last night and every other night

the things he left:

his cigarettes
(and sex between my legs)

his vodka glass
(a hand print on my ass)

a black cotton sock
(the rocks he got off)

torn kleenex
(a salty wet)

a messed bed
a spinning head
of use
and dread.

I wonder
if he'll want
them burned
or
returned

burnt

I want to be
this
other girl.

She has rounder
curls
&
softer
skin
with invisible
pores.

I hate
this chick
I'm stuck with.
Stiff luck.
A slow growth fuck
that eggs my
insides.

They're all so
pretty.
Mini
Painted
Perfect.
And worth it.

And I am
a wormhole
of worthless.
all hurtful internal
and
full
of burn holes.

Spoons

I am
not
a sex
object,

he says,

and asks
to spoon
instead.

my tears
ink
the darkness.

this one woman
sex sweatshop
learned
to paint
so his place
could have
pictures.

this sex
user
brought him
chocolate
because he
hates
Mondays.

she wrote
him notes
and dumb jokes.

and
held his hand
as he watched
his broken life
shatter.

I thought
we were sacred.

I am just
naked
silverware,
I guess
and that
I use him
for
sex.

now what

what was I here for
what was all the beer for
and why did you say you loved me
before you slammed the car
door?

what was all we had
before?

the shit
we shot
for hours
in shoddy bars.

the sweaty
sex
in Decembered
cars.

the late restaurant
nights
alone

the stupid
jokes.
Sharks.
And America.

I wish
I could take back
the
chocolate.
And
you'd
forget
what life tastes like
without me.

rated r

they see
these
lipsticked
strawberries
and

pine
for kisses.

my lips
are designed
for sins;
a pout for
things
to be placed
between.

these rocky
horror
reds
aid & abet
my bed-
beckoned
men
to beg.

okay,
kiss my
crimson twins.
a lustful
blood flood
banquet
begins
and he
forgets
where
his
nerve
ends.

my hinged
vermilions
undid him;
and
my lips
win
again

booze is sexy

two drinks
get
me pretty
shitty

faced.

and now
I feel
pretty-faced
and able
to join
the
beauty
rat race.

my legs
embrace
liquor
and lovingly
elope with
elevation;
I can stand
atop
sexy
skyscrapers

my shit
is thinner
after gin;
gone are
my double chins,
and I'm not
imagining
these
lascivious
hips;
they're
screaming
for sex.

rum
makes
my bum
sublime.
my cinnamon
swirls are
the envy of
all girls:
tight and
toned,
ready to be
boned,
these cheeks
pound pride
beneath my
clothes.

brandy
makes my
boobs
bountiful
and bouncy;
it breathes a
lusty blond
breeze
between my
tendrils.

but vodka.

vodka is the
best
of expectations.
vodka invites
invectives
and
elective
lost clothes.
vodka loves
my lips
begs my
vagina
to vie
for a dick.

and tomorrow,


vodka


forgets


?