Poetry

Gutter Wine, and Shards of Stars—

29 October 2020

When I wake up on Saturday,
I can only lay and daydream
Feel my night’s musings seep into the covers
And try not to think about you.

I get up to water my garden—
I’ve planted flowers because
I need to grow something other than resentment.

Getting ready, I have no time
To eat, I have other things
To digest.

I dust over every
Freckle you’ve touched with
Foundation, I construct smiles like skyscrapers
Just to prove you weren’t my cornerstone.

I stagger through a crowded bar,
Lunge across the banister, drift
Between boy-creatures who are
Lean, and
Nothing like you, but beautiful
With their butterfly eyes and hazy hair, with
Laughter punc!tu!ated by fruity hiccups,
Siphoning life from my lungs—
You are the only one
Who’s ever kissed me
With a soul.

I tip my head and howl, then swallow the sound;
It tastes like gutter wine.

I have a friend with arms like palm fronds,
Gentle but cold, with elbows
Rough like pumice.
As we lurch into the cosmos
I clasp his hand in mine,
Reminded that once, we were but shards of stars.

The girls glide to and fro, their bodies
Fissures in the limelight, constantly nudging
Shadows into orbit,
Cushioning me from the windows because
The moon reminds me of you
And I am caught in the commotion:
Sleek greyhound figures and
Shifting mellow chaos.

But at the end of the day,
When I stagger back home and
Think about the party
Stories crawl through me,
And you’re the one I want to tell
The only one I want to tell.


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