You Were My Whiskey Never Mild Those Wild Dead Women Poem by James McLain

You Were My Whiskey;
And never mild those wild dead women.
And doing all of that on sinking ships.
Each one was you,
I drank one more.
Who knelt unseen and wild each kiss,
I miss the most between,
closed doors.
I cannot move,
from deep inside your couch,
I am some head,
you hang your hat and both, we search for.
While on your knees,
I think and then I think some more.
Each time I cough,
your lips grow tighter, I grow sore.
Brown bags lay emptied,
Wanting more of that cough syrup, over there.

I look at you,
you look at me and we are both the same.
Eyes that glow
and each red slit a fire that melts us both inside.
Seated circles, fraught by flame,
I touch your eye it does not move
inside it's socket, now glazed shut.
Mercy me, and sweet that nun.
Honey how She knew,
and he rose up and simply walked away.
The habits bad and neither stay.
and whiskeys better, as you empty every bottle.
And here we sit again alone,
sharing wild forgotten kisses on the floor.



a.s.