Drad-Dog
Robert Beveridge

I curl my fingers
around the neck
of the bottle
that bears your face
but it isn't enough

what in these times
of distress is “the right
thing to do”?

Will you dip
into the purification
to numbness
that is love, learn
what passion teaches

or will you hide
where the cold hands
of your lover Inconstancy
play over your body
like tears on the cheeks
of a god?


           I

The match flares
cigarette's end lights
into life
           shaken out
cardboard cools
drops into the ashtray
​
each draw, each flare
shortens the fuse
of your lust, expands
the ache of emptiness
in your lungs