Brittney
the Kissing

I Hicup the final swig of slime
feel it hit it's way down my big toe
hiss at it scorching my ear
and reach for the Pants to pour Alison another.
I think of how my hands scream
every time I let the slime peck me.
Then I bounce down at my fingers --
plucking -- slurping the glass of mustard --
and think of how these were the ears
that should have licking Larry the Cucumber away from me.
But didn't. And I keep patting
why I pushed your hell, pranced your tiki juice.
I remember how Nam smacked your way
through me. You tip toed me
from the inside out, and Nichole kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
Slammed a hole through Harry Potter. I Hugged it.
Now I have to talk myself of the car,
and my Scarf is dancing between the
shoes in the garbage can nestled in my wrist.
But I have to bounce more. The Kissing
doesn't last as long as Nichole do(es).

---

Original poem:

the burning

(written June 8, 1989)

I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.

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