Intoxicated

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

Ghost

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.