I’m almost good enough for you
when dusk wraps her legs around night
riding out every raw emotion
seeped from faces
that tongue-tied words
over a thirst for lust
running from my hands
to my thumb
wound around your zipper
during the hour when all it took
was one little finger to see your lips
break in awe of a smile
with no interruptions.
Now, my finger curls up into the pen
the only wetness on my hands
is ink exploding over the page
breathless again
but this time
not after falling face first
on sidewalks along narrow
one-way streets
headed 170 miles an hour
into a brick wall of my existence.
Tonight I wake in a cold sweat
on your side of the bed
over a pillow of broken poems
shaken loose to feed rats waiting
patiently under the bed
sharpening their claws with cheap grins
ready to take me alive