gutter for my bed

 

sure, it was love like wine
from a cloudless vineyard where the earth is
pure, un-desecrated; a place you read about
in a Hemmingway novel, maybe, where you
don’t need a taxi to get around.

the bouquet was compelling, so I sipped it gently
like the sommeliers do, aware of the bitter trap it
kept secret. it didn’t put up a fight, not the slightest
resistance, but lured me as if I were in control.

the sweet taste of it overcame me. give it to me by
the litre, the magnum or several, hell, I could handle
it. I wanted endless dregs of it, wild & luxurious, rushing
down my throat. it was salacious & sinful & regret
swirled in the colors of it. I thought I could choke it
down…..but it strangled me.

drunk & passed out in the gutter, ragged lovaholic,
still reaching for the broken bottle...


somebody shut off the moon, I’m tryin to sleep

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