He doesn’t drink much, but he loves tasting the sweet kick of vodka on my lips. I love watching his delicious tongue put words together as poetry flowed out of his dirty, drunk mouth. He intoxicates me.

Posted in Poetry


You are the faint apparition of dreams I bartered over sleep, always insufficient. You leave so often, elusive from my grasp, the way someone broke you, and my love can never quite keep you together.