She formed posture to that of a question mark.
A wink representing where
Took pleasure in the indulgence of certainty.
Bending to the will of patterned activity,
I censored our touching lips.
Believing a kiss intensified by ethanol
To be a study in nihilism.
No. No. No.
There was no fucking of mushy organs.
She just didn’t want to sleep alone.
And in the morning halitosis greeted us
In the dawn-light styled after the vomit
That stained our goodbyes.
I relive our night together
Each time a sitcom actor dies
And the producers replace them
With a stand-in.