Your slurred alibis burn on my tongue
Their tangy, intoxicating edges taking hold.
A little part of me I’d rather keep
Dribbles down in every dabble in you.
I lick the alcohol from your swollen lips.
You taste like bad beer laced with water hemlock
Trickling through my senses one drop at a time.
You coo against me, “I love you,”
Your breath smelling as stale as your words.

You are but the best of many I delight in
Picking up and putting down each night.
Hate follows the wine in my bloodstream
As careless, drunken lies spew from your lips.
Before I used to believe in that subtle chemistry
When the crowded bar faded into you, me,
And the alcohol that carried us into thoughtlessness.

Now I love not you but the very end.
I have waited long enough, lost in margaritas
And false promises leaving me shaken-not-stirred.
I am ready.  You smile as the road flashes by.
It reminds me of when I was a child and I dreamed
The drops sucked from bottles in the storeroom could drown it all.
But don’t despair, dear poor creature drunk on me
I have twenty different bottles waiting for you at home.
I have twenty different brilliant ways
To get you writhing on the floor
Pleading for death in those last shakes and sobs.

You’re in a hurry to go beneath the surface.
I laugh darkly. “How about a drink to seal it?”
Your fingers tremble as you select the red wine
I so carefully mixed in the jessamine last night.
You raise it to your lips and empty it like you emptied me.
A blanch; “Doesn’t taste right!”, lurch onto my bed
I grab you and hold you down, listening to your laughter
“Want me that bad, huh?” no-yes-no-of-course-not.

It takes a few minutes for the poison to flow.
You begin to push against me, struggling like they all do.
Faster, stronger, sweat dripping down your skin
Beautiful eyes wide and tearing up.  A scream rips from you
(God, why do they always have to scream?)
My hand slips over your mouth, herbs slipped in cocktails
And the shrieks won’t-stop-won’t-stop-won’t-stop.
Finally, they subside and your body goes limp.
My hands latch around your neck.  It’s just like opening a wine bottle;
I turn and turn and turn until it stops
And laugh until the poison in my senses subsides.
You’re dead, dear, but I’m the one who’s truly wasted.