vodka ;
he came to me in august
with a bottle of liquor in one hand
and a pack of cigarettes in the other
and told me i looked exquisite
under the sun's aching lustre.
he put daisies in my hair
and his cigarette in my mouth
and all i could taste was ash and tobacco and mint
and him.
he kissed me with
alcohol stained lips
and lust-clouded eyes
and breathed pretty words
between my thighs.
now he tells me i look dull
with the midday rays burning my skin
and his lips only meet my neck
when his sighs taste like vodka.
he scours between my legs
hungry for honey
that no longer flows for him
and as he looks at me with angry eyes
and breaks his bottle against my thigh
i reach for his arm and whisper
don't leave.
and just like that
without even glancing back
at my ragged hair and bloody leg
he is gone.
