(Relapse – one rehab down)

Cuddled up to the sweet smelling mongrel,
the wet haired dog drooling for a Smore over a campfire.
My lover’s back, swilled around the bottom
of a bottle of cheep bourbon
with a splash of vermouth,
a kiss from an angel.

God, I hate him and love how he feels,
that burn like refined sugar tickles my throat
the way an Esther Price turtle candy chokes me,
it’s nuts and caramel pulling out fillings one at a time.

God, how I crave him and save my minutes
just to get a hold of one more bite
of the fluffy stuff of marshmallows
superheated over the flame so it burns my tongue.

But it’s not like that.
It’s a hoodoo voodoo doll
cross-stitched eyes and mouth,
a split strand of yarn for hair
tufted on top and down below
all my faces lick their chops

Saying,

Don’t tie down the witch before
she casts her lots,
it only makes her angry.