this place is for washed up lovers
counting cracks in bathroom tiles,
teeth clenched between bottle necks
and cigarettes.
scorched whispers across sweat spun skin,
secrets that were never secrets at all
spilling from stained glass mouths.
alcohol like fire burns in thundercloud eyes
in the shape of translucent glass bottles
that makes for hasty collisions
and defeated declarations of
undisclosed emotion.

teeth clenched between bottle necks
and cigarettes
and saying, i want you,
i want you,
but from here it sounds sad.
from here it sounds a lot like,
i love you.