Agave

I've lost the point again-
please drip it back into my lackluster excuse for serotonin

for f**k's sake call me in the morning

my hydro-caloric intake cramps calves on a Tuesday like I could recall the last time I cared about whether or not I was sober by 6 am-
but it's a whatever sort of thing

break my clavicle and tell me again how I burned the sugar in your voice,
black and stacked against my throat full of molasses-
or was it bleach?
It's hard to remember sometimes

you pull memories from my lungs like cyanide

belying each ounce of saline that slips like posies from distempered thighs-
white lies spilt from capillaries rich with consonants.

dismember me slowly
casually

oxidize each lipid out of my salacious eyes

I will swallow my pride until all they can find are silicates and semi-sort of regrets,
salt-soft lullabies still whistling duets


I used to believe that I, like morality, was malleable and adaptive-

like something I told my first born daughter in a dream

but really she was just medical waste, and I am too drunk too many years too late
to understand what that means outside the horrors of metaphor and the dried daffodils at your door.