Parliament Kiss

I am finding addiction easier to come by in Summer nights spent clawing for what I shouldn’t. Short bursts

that seep into the blood, and light me up like lines of cocaine. Slate blue storms drawn out over nights clouded by looks

that last a second longer. Fingertips that reach across the beer stained wood of the bar to test rough waters. Sunrise

on the popcorn ceiling washing Fernet from the brain. Mistakes well thought through in the gap from the door

to the bed whispering: What if we did it again? And what if we did it again?

Cigarette smoke burns gold slivers in the night against sweat-damp skin. There is something there in a sixer

for the road, when the tension breaks; gives in to yearning. Sweet Wellfleet in the sun and a prying knife to abrasive

shells. Siren calls with vinegar lips and lemon tongue, and all the salt in the ocean to drown in.