I had abstained from that tincture of torture
For months and months,
And had finally achieved a weak sobriety from an aching sore
That I couldn’t help but pick at and lick.
Then I felt its draw again —
After months and months —
Which with one taste
Were wiped clean off of my plate
As if no time had passed at all.
All I did was take a (barely) reluctant bite,
Just a small one,
Just a nibble off the top,
And now I am chasing dirge-spewing dragons,
With a thirsty mouth — empty and gaping,
Into someone else’s brackish night of horror.
I guess I have to start all over again now.
*** Get over yourself, Sweet Cheeks. ***