DRUNK

HE CALLS ME AT 3 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING LOOKING FOR HOME

BECAUSE HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

AND APPARENTLY HIS HEART IS ALWAYS WITH ME

MAYBE IT WAS THE ANXIETY THAT WAS DRENCHED IN HIS VOICE

BUT AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGMENT, I LET HIM IN

AS HE STAGGERED INTO MY ROOM

HE TOLD ME THAT HE HAD BEEN DRINKING ABOUT ME

BECAUSE HE COULDN’T QUITE GET ME OFF HIS MIND

I HAD BECOME A PARASITE IN HIS BRAIN

AND MY DISEASE SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE REST OF HIS BODY

LIKE WILDFIRE

THE ONLY WAY TO BE CURED WAS BY MY KISS

BUT THE INFECTION WAS BORN FROM MY TOUCH

DEFEATED

HE TELLS ME HE WISHES HE COULD GIVE ME A DOSE OF MY OWN MEDICATION

SO THAT I TOO COULD WAKE UP IN THE MORNING FEELING LOVESICK

BUT BY THE LOOK ON MY FACE

HE REALIZES IT’S ALREADY TOO LATE

I HAD PREVIOUSLY VISITED THE DOCTOR

AND GOTTEN MY SHOTS

AND THE POSSIBILITY OF DEVELOPING A FEVER OVERNIGHT WAS UNLIKELY

STILL, HE ATTEMPTS TO INTOXICATE ME WITH HIS KISSES

HOPING THAT THERE WOULD STILL BE TRACES OF ALCOHOL LEFT ON HIS LIPS

SO THAT I TOO COULD FALL DRUNK IN LOVE

BUT I HAD ALREADY BUILT MY TOLERANCE

HUNG-OVER

HE TELLS ME IN THE MORNING

THAT HE TOOK A SHOT EVERY TIME I CROSSED HIS MIND

BUT HIS CHASERS TASTED EXACTLY LIKE THE PRONUNCIATION OF MY NAME

SO HE NEEDED TO KEEP DRINKING TO RINSE THE FLAVOR OUT HIS MOUTH

UNTIL HE GOT WASTED AND REALIZED THAT EVEN AFTER 6 SHOTS OF WHISKEY

HE WOULDN’T FORGET ME

THAT HE DIDN’T WANT TO

I HAD MADE MY WAY INTO HIS BLOODSTREAM FASTER THAN THE LIQUOR COULD EVEN HIT HIM

AND HE TELLS ME HIS JUDGMENT HAS BEEN IMPAIRED SINCE THE MOMENT HE MET ME

I HAD BECOME HIS MOST PLAYED DRINKING GAME

HIS FAVORITE PAST TIME

SOBRIETY AT THIS POINT WAS OUT OF THE QUESTION

BECAUSE I HAD TURNED HIM INTO AN ALCOHOLIC

DRUNK

I CALL HIM AT 3 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING LOOKING FOR HOME

BECAUSE HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

AND I REALIZED MY HEART IS ALWAYS WITH HIM

I TELL HIM IF DRUNKEN WORDS ARE SOBER THOUGHTS

MY VOICE MUST SOUND LIKE MUSIC TO HIS EARS

AND MY JUMBLED WORDS MUST BE A WORK OF ART

I TOLD HIM I HAD BEEN DRINKING ABOUT HIM

BECAUSE THERE WASN’T ENOUGH PAPER FOR ME TO WRITE HIM OUT OF EXISTENCE

AND POETRY IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY DRINK OF CHOICE

AFTER A FEW MOMENTS OF SILENCE

HE TELLS ME HE’S GIVEN UP DRINKING

BUT HE’D LIKE ONE LAST SHOT