Winter: Companions
We played that night,
until the sun came up.
And we were alive,
finally.
“Say something else.”
I was the jester,
making you smile
and laugh:
Your wine glass tipping,
this way and that.
Like some drunkard
in a tavern, singing
songs from the sea
barrels of whiskey,
tucked within the walls
of your lungs.
Bleed this patience,
as I wait to get you inside
to take off those rags,
v-necks and black tights
graced, with a jean skirt.
Overcoats peel away,
like rotten oranges
juicy and ripe.
I want to sit, below your tree
and harvest the fruit,
you’ve kept hidden away.
Flies dance, through our lids
and vomit in our wounds-
But we will touch it all away,
one fingertip at a time.
One bottom lip at a time.
