a whiskey ginger is what i am
in love with,
ceramic sculptor of my arteries;
fall with me
into the urban forest
and lay your pale red lips on my cheek and whisper
loud enough to hear the vibrations
and understand the clouds
but soft enough to keep a secret
from the ever rumbling crowds.
she blow marijuana smoke rings
in our apartment made for one
even though i told her they didn’t like that here.
she knocked back shots of whiskey with her sips of coke,
i drank a beer at the end of the bar and was in love.