i wouldn't keep
a bottle
around.
this is the third
one in
a week.
last week
i spent
$150
in four
different bars
on three
separate nights
while
a bottle (and
a half) rested
at home,
waiting for me
to purr
into it.
my poems
have
been shit.
somewhere,
he smirks and reads
them
and strokes his
cock and ego
with whatever hand
isn't
holding a flask.
the wine
doesn't feel
heavy in my hand
nor in my gut.
i like that i
don't have
to light it.
it doesn't
make me
(too)stupid
or cough
just tilt my
head back
and welcome
the shade.
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