when i replace meal with martini

i have only but one question;

how did i not throw up on those wet blades of grass?

bury my face in the greens of the herbivorous.

race through the flash of red before the green allowed me to do so.

i stuck close to the road - became sexual with the bend of each maneuver

"let the wind breathe itself into my pours," i mouthed as i let the window fall.

rain on my windshield - someone crying from the heavens, you mutt.

why not laugh? why not expel such feelings and let grieve surpass you?

slovenly after the dine of two shaken drinks,

left me retreating to bathrooms - in mind bedrooms.

but no, i have conscious in me. i am unkept,

unattractive at best. incapable of controlling gestures

and evocative only by taste of mouth, by the air of my breath.

he smells apple and thinks of Eve by impulse.

"did not the story of Eve involve a snake," he questions with slide

oh but please, button your jean for my mistress would be mad

and my love even more heated. "we must be good," and i button his shirt and go.

thinking of how you must loathe me with hope.

hope that you do in fact loathe me - and

hope that you will have reason not to.

well i thought of you this night. you were not the only one,

but you passed my mind atleast once, twice, three.

my fingers dialed you, my mind told me to over glass and tab.

weighing my options: make you remove hand from below

and consider tomorrow i will come in favor to you or

let you sleep to death as tears boil your oiled skin?

i chose with your account in mind. it did me no good,

but really i felt no differently and drank till i righteously

stored my dial into his calling.

atleast he looked my way as i puffed death into his face.

-Chelsea Leigh

(a drunken poem fulfills me best)