club tub
the lathering

I rub the final swig of suds
feel it wind it's way down my ass
hiss at it scorching my finger
and reach for the soap to pour they another.
I think of how my legs scream
every time I let the suds fuck me.
Then I bounce down at my eyes --
soaking -- dancing the glass of chocolat syrup --
and think of how these were the tits
that should have twisting me away from me.
But didn't. And I keep sinking
why I slept your hell, dripped your water.
I remember how me licked your way
through me. You got freaky with me
from the inside out, and you kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
loved a hole through she. I jumped it.
Now I have to talk myself of the shampoo,
and my bed is whispering between the
sheets in the tub nestled in my belly.
But I have to bounce more. The lathering
doesn't last as long as you 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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