#drinks

7 poems

photobooth

shoes stick to the floor, we wander past the bar into a dim red-lit lounge. pinball, locked door, you. you’re a seeing machine. pull your curtain closed— shroud us in secrets that end just above our waist.

tap on a train faregate, a beep reminds us that transportation isn’t free, a short trip still costs us. you’re a seeing machine. see what we’re made of. we’re trapped here now, we can’t hide from flash.

all whirring and waiting. don’t know how long ‘til our capture, our release. we kiss from impatience. you’re a seeing machine. our mouths are blurring, hands in hair, bite marks in flesh. we have no time.

falling back into the light. was there music before? we lean against the box, we cannot lose contact. you’re a seeing machine. you take time to develop. wait here: a strip will fall. freeze us in four frames.

Black-and-white four-frame photobooth strip of two people kissing.

food

a girl’s gotta eat, grow big & strong food becomes fuel fired brick oven

i have reservations, my seat’s set aside gin martini stirred— small coin of lemon.

white pressed linens red leather cushions polished steel fixtures scarred marble veins

amuse my palate gift from the chef we kindly request: no sharing allowed

a girl’s gotta eat, wash away fears enjoy my choices wet lips, appetite

taste first with eyes each flavor distinct: salt, grit, acid, burn hungering for it all

the first bite builds anticipation of more— a mindless chewing, my posture softens

i lick your plate clean it’s been taken care of have i saved any room? no, some other time

use

craving total transformation, identity a disposed wrapper. becoming a vessel for want, glass poured into, overfilled.

you haven’t been here lately. something in our combining always begins this reaction: photochemical excited state

learning how to spark again — days ago: gel, pumps, bulbs, rattling pill bottles and nerves, black gloves, gold foil, silicone.

it’s warmed up enough already. don’t ask or guess — just know. take a part you claim as yours, shape it to your pleasure. use.

time stutters; the gears grind forward under prying pressure. repairing hidden mechanisms, counting every beat yourself.

disappearing deconstruction: ripped apart by heat and light, shredded into a thousand tiny pieces of steel. shrapnel blast.

there is stillness in oblivion, peace made in the darkness. clenched fists, soaked linen. i swear. i won’t move. i can’t.

incision

half decade wishes:
a leveling out.
forbidden kisses
the right choice, no doubt
central park consult
king cole martini
review old results
discard bikinis
photograph the curves
archives in high gloss
the things i preserve,
they’ll surely just toss
day before phone calls
rage at the system
its stops, starts, & stalls
need to assist him
sleep, holding a heart
cleanse every surface
wrong name on the chart
of course you deserve this
wave as the doors close
don’t use the “b” word
eat eggs as you doze
the artwork looks blurred
a husband’s phone rings
let me inside there
treat you like a king
hold cups as your care
bumpy ride that night
late rooftop phone call
two beams of bright light
never forget fall
a week goes by fast
managing your pain
see yourself at last
straight scars and no drain
i cry more than you do
it hits me deeply
this thing that you choose
didn’t come cheaply
a body transformed
like overnight oats
years since your plans formed
i’ll keep taking notes

poison

the black bottle kept
just out of reach
of those who fear
my obsidian liquid
a toxicology report:
deadly in large doses
but taken with care
the hurting heals us
sure, share a nightcap
wince with me in pain
we need this to sting
no easier, knowing it
small sips are sweet
deeper drinks, bitter
stone fruit can’t mask
a burning this intense
scared to let you see
me like this — red eyes
pierce pewter framing
you want, no, need to
as the spirit fully hits
there’s no stopping this
            drink.
the cork is broken now

stick

winter cherry, lush pressed to the pane : clear swirling glass, vessels for grapes

red print attracts gazes from gays strange artifacts mouths go astray

first contact lasts longer than stains washed away fast — much like our brains

they always say lips that disguise can’t be the way, but never the why

shouldn’t we just paint what we feel even if lips must become the meal

accident(ily)

one fifty-four is not the hour to send texts, no autocorrect

risky confessions clipped affections dimmed i love you’s from neon rooms

could be a typo should i just lol or say her name, reply the same?

an oops can’t erase the thrumming bass as juniper slips from her bruised lips

tripping on her tongue fuck. uhh. drunk. umm. not that not yet

or at least — not like this