she only loves me when she’s drunk.
a thought that she might have ignored
comes to life as I’m adored
with each new sip from the highball glass.
and there, she presents her ass
as the lioness will do from time to time;
it suits her, as far as I can tell, just fine.
she never thinks to what I may bother
so when she’s sober … there’s another
that I’m sure she will dream of,
until the grind of the day
has worn her spirit away
and she finds herself again in a haze
where her love is more clear
than all the clear days.
screaming at low volumes
