2006 - Vol. 3, Issue 5

This man strives to cast
Briar–like shadows
From his woolly strands of hair
That stroke our silken sham.
All our coffee mugs are broken.
I ceased sipping my green tea from his beer steins
Since the artificial sweetener has become bitter
At the union of our scents
Of beer, chamomile, and fish oil.
Cane sugar has yet to be sweet,
Or to crack a smile on the mirror.
The table is salty
With sprinkles of my lithium and Adderall,
And his cocaine lacing the edges.
The angels and demons always dance
Above or below the square ceramic tiles
Or on top of the porcelain lid.
I pull back the matted hair from his eyes,
And kiss his foul mouth
With a sedative wrapped in my tongue.
It does not stimulate the sun to rise.
I woke up one night
In the company of a smiling blackened grin
After hours in the waiting room answering questions
And combating the flow
Of salty liquids from his face.
He hands me a mirror.
My gritty charcoal–brushed teeth
Reflect him back to me.