the noble savage with junior the third

three drinks in,
wishing i could blow a sax like that,
thinking about tattoos and humidity,
and you.
thumbs pressed against my lips
to not smile at the drunks
listening to
the jazz,
foot tapping in tandem
with my numb nose.
come dance with me to these
liquid blues,
bite my collarbones and
tell me a story about
the sweetness of
my alabaster skin.
fifth drink and
all i can taste is [...]

stoic

it’s a lot like quitting cigarettes,
isn’t it.
fits of resolve verses surrender.
until finally,
you’re here,
10 years later,
insides clean and pure as the driven snow;
but still carrying a lighter in your pocket,
matches loose at the bottom of your bag,
laying in bed at night thinking that
just one more time
wouldn’t hurt.