drink, drank, drunk

it was drinking myself from the inside out:
every drop of internal stuff sucked dry,
every pearl of bile or blood or stomach acid
drained. i tossed my bones around inside
my skin, thought they might look better
arranged some other way.

on my back in a room blanketed by blue
curtains, fingers pressed against the wall
trying to steady a body rolling
like wind-beaten dunes. he licks and twists me,
trying to wring the last bit of wetness
from cartilage, metacarpals, the sheen
over the eyeballs – where he stands,
no puddle forms.

 

 

 

First date in three parts

I.
Naked in front of the mirror, white
dimpled body caught
blank in lamplight.
eyes like telescopes
inspect every seam.

II.
I am close to adding my vomit
to the gunk that holds
the sidewalk together. Instead,
I nibble at the end of my tongue
pulling off tastebuds like stickers.

III.
It is no longer about me.
Blue corduroy over curve
of his legs, like he’s always holding
an apple between his knees.

Drink up

His arms are wound around my throat like a winter scarf.
Abrasive as coarse wool, bits of him try to sneak through
my lips like stray fibers. Mouth not built to barricade,
eventually cheeks are filled to roundness – two small
plums, and a snakeskin teasing my tonsils.
The next morning there are thumbprints where evidence
is not collected. All I can find of him are the pieces
caught between my teeth.