My heart numbed, laden with
alcohol

this morning I can’t move,
the warm creeping through my cheeks
under the crisp autumn airshine
floating in the smell of makeup
and Halloween candy,
nipples tightened and pale

naked and in a half-cold bed
reminds me of the blanks
where that first crushing love
littered light kisses on the edge of my mouth
hand loitering near my lower stomach,
never wanted to move even then

his blurred image and smell
of philosopher paint cologne and thyme
became the icon of the forgetfulness
of love

since then I’ve grown into a succubus,
a nympho constantly tied down,
cut off circulation pulsing into
unforgiving bonds

lower half tingling,
the dim cluttered room tips
around my lolling head, bloodshot grey eyes
and I burn
with nostalgia,
that I can’t remember,
and the knowledge of being alone,
dirty,
and alone, and sick, and alone, and
quiet, and
still