You get high, I’ll have a drink. They’re just words,
same as sediment, same as palpate. Let’s make
something small to steward together, one
little saxophone player with a reed
in his mouth. You can grow thin and still be
yourself, coax a beard and button your coat,
while I’ll keep wanting it all: every man
and woman I meet. But we’re done
throwing chairs at people we don’t really
love. Hand me that bottle, kiss me goodnight,
spin me around our old kitchen.
