By Clara Elizabeth
Weeping dew above our heads soaks through grandfather-aged rafters
As we basement lurk —
Heads thick from your Newport candles,
A grotesque aphrodisiac.
As we basement lurk —
The stench of boozing with you:
(Our grotesque aphrodisiac — )
Cloying desire.
The stench of bottom-shelf booze,
One could smell us from the stairs.
Desire like molasses,
Tobacco resin.
One could smell our loneliness from the stairs.
Hear the incessant whine of your pitiful black dog.
Tobacco resin stinking on the bent, rusting fork in the ashtray.
But I tasted a little bit of copper when you argued with your palm.
When do you stop loving what you know is bad for you?
Beggars do not choose, but
You should be able to smell it from the stairs
When you do, “I don’t love you anymore” is rarely
Something you say out loud. You usually just feel it.
Reeking liquor draft wafts with summer gardenias — makes me nauseous;
Descending the stairs, I smell your cheap vodka stains.
Canine’s skittering keratin on black concrete, crackling.
You say something out loud.
Chalkboard screech whine for food.
Gardenias retching, nauseous from the night.
It is a different light I see him in, the morning brings it.
You rise to greet me in slippers: shuffle, shuffle, Thud, “Fuck.”
Cackling concrete under black claws, crackling.
You trip, steel pan orchestra of bottles falling from your shelf.
The small beast screeches and you retch,
Slowly, as the earth opens up. shuffle, shuffle, Thud, you just feel it.
Steel pan orchestra of bottles falling.
You say something out loud.
I gasp, “Fuck.”
Relief — we just felt it.