The Kill

Life force phallus
held gentle on her
tiger tongue—
Death Chompers
poised to collapse
evil lying
boredom
at the slightest
sour scent.

Scars that still itch on occasion

I clearly remember
how I felt on the inside,
the struggle against and the
abandon to.
I can easily recall
how you felt to the touch
thighs, hands, hair
lips, forehead
and there are times
when your smell rushes at me
and my nose is full of you
and my brain reels with
unexpected memory.
How is it that connections
remain from such physical memory
when all other connections are
long dead and cold.

Wait for the Report

Shot glass splashed with tequila
full and dripping onto the wooden bar
worn with scrubbings and dried out by
alcohol, hard as a rock.
It rests, waits, impatient
wants to be thrown back, shot
and slammed back down on the bar
loud report, bam, didn't even
need lime
fuck salt
straight shot.

That is how I feel some days;
patient anger dripping onto the bar
waiting for the report
fuck limes and salt
I'll take my future neat.