Dazzling

a shot in the dark

I am lush in a vintage frock,
shocking and scarlet.
My glass is half full.

I like the odd shot.
A pistol loaded, cocked,
with a soundtrack.

Music is an envelope.
Spirits are a trip.
I have eyes like a panda.

I run my fingertips
over the wallpaper,
ecstatic with paper bouquets.

My tongue loosened,
I dance with lost abandon,
quick to flare or burst.

Words of wet love gush
if I'm lucky. If not, I spill
verbal vitriol, like vomit.


Here's to the empty glass,
in which I feel less, perceive less,
notice less, and remember.