The poet drunk dials, Clementine Von Radics

I’m not sure how to get home, 
so I’m outside your apartment. 
I should tell you, I went
for the double whiskey sour.
and then a few whiskeys more.
I’m still much better at drinking
than stopping, unfortunately.

Earlier they were strippers, oiled 
and beautiful, spinning like meat 
on a spit. Earlier I thought of you.
How you were far away, where my hand 
couldn’t wrap around the curve 
of your thigh.

The sidewalks are glittering 
from the rain and you are still
beautiful. This is me 
throwing pebbles. If you want to,
please let me in.

I want to curl into the sweet expanse 
of your back. I want to wake up, 
make you coffee, make you laugh, 
make myself into the person 
who is worthy of you. You 
have been strong so much longer 
than I’ve been good.

To speak it simply now: 
you are the whole of my heart.
You are the choke on my beer. 
You are the last voice
before I shuffle off this mortal shitshow.

The constellations whispering to me 
there will never be another one
like you. I want it written on my tombstone.
Let our love be how I’m remembered.


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