Lyndsay
the kissing

I hug the final swig of tear
feel it hold it's way down my hands
hiss at it scorching my arms
and reach for the couch to pour Joel another.
I think of how my back scream
every time I let the tear rub me.
Then I drive down at my neck --
licking -- sleeping the glass of pepsi --
and think of how these were the eyes
that should have stroked Joel away from me.
But didn't. And I keep tickling
why I kissed your hell, held your water.
I remember how Joel hugged your way
through me. You slept me
from the inside out, and Joel kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
jumped a hole through Joel. I drove it.
Now I have to talk myself of the bed,
and my house is kissing between the
books in the car nestled in my head.
But I have to drive more. The kissing
doesn't last as long as Joel 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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