splatter art

In the middle of our eighth Jägerbomb shot,
I had an inkling
you’d ruin me
one day. Then somewhere along our nightly drive
down the interstate, we set ourselves on a collision course,
staining the other with our turbulence,
bleeding out of frame.

But we continued
breathing empty intentions of overflowing plums,
dusty saffron flecked with exploitation.

You’ve always looked good in that speckled blue-flower button down.

Intoxication is never good for such a fickle system,
(but god just for a little bit longer let me lap up another drop
of your almost-truths and half-sincerity).

Those monogrammed cufflinks, bounded ropes that howled possession,
slashing burnt silver streaks across the already
disaster on paper. In between dinner plan disappointments
and glass vases broken,
I love how much it hurts me to earn you.

What did you tell yourself today to ease the thundering of reason?

No number of signal fire and rescue ships can save
one determined to reach a siren’s song
(because polished brass will never shine like gold).