Apparition Poem #1488


liquor store, linoleum
floor, wine she chose 
 was always deep red,
 dark, bitter aftertaste,
 unlike her bare torso,
  which has in it
  all that ever was
  of drunkenness—
to miss someone terribly,
to both still be in love, as
she severs things because
 she thinks she must—
 exquisite torture, it’s
 a different bare torso,
(my own) that’s incarnadine—

P.S. Some new work up in Milk Magazine.