poems written in last night’s hangover
often smell of beer and love
words, like cigarettes,
burning the paper to crisp
cancerous
satisfying
they often rhyme with awkward flirtations
in dark corners
while drinking rum
in plastic glasses
riddled with alcoholic metaphors.
I write about the girl
in a green cocktail dress
wearing electric blue heels
the one who sat next to me
shared our mutual love for stouts
then danced around half naked
up on the water tank
with no moon
to reveal our pristine obscenity
and my poems,
that I read to you
and fell asleep
only to wake up
without you
with a hangover
and with a small poem
titled “Dying Moon”.
it is often that we try to find meaning
in such a rendezvous
romantic, misleading
all things that make life beautiful
yet sometimes a poem
is just what it is
few words on the back of a receipt
for bread, eggs and Miller lite
that smell of her.
