Alcoholic Poetry 12

have i not, with taloned tongue
grabbed that rodent from
the mouth of its den;

where skies melt to wings
unclenched, in swift strokes
the meat is rendered.

we sat at the top of the
bed, with the orgasm still
in our throats,

and waited silently
for something else
to let us be.

i spilled those words
with all my ink, as i told
myself not to.

we laid against the sheets,
the hours not asking
what i had wanted of them;

it came like a moon
sneaking quietly into
the steadily darknening sky;

and the same way it would leave.

songs about, and pitiable words
all frantic with,
the void that wouldn't consume.

you lay there in the
folds of my thoughts
unwrinkled by;

as i would wait for the
creases to impress,
but nothing changed;

other than my perception.

we lunged like eagles
in the hunt, claws drawn,
as tight as moments kept;

and each time led me
to the next, as alone
together we travelled;

so alone together.