racing down the knife edge

leaving a copper scented trail down the blade as i rabbit into the flask you bought me to celebrate sobreity

the thirteenth step of relapse

you taste like whiskey

all the sensual notes of your musk

you’re the venom in the kiss

the junk in my veins

that first thought in the morning in a strange bed

cotton packed around my brain

my tongue feeling like a strip of leather

pounding head

tangled in the sheets

your scent on my skin

sunlight pulsing through pupils like pinpricks

feeling bruised as i follow the trail of clothes to the front door like so many breadcrumbs

barely functional as i hop and tumble trying to dress

seeking stealth but incapable

if you were to awaken

i might never leave

but the edge calls

i still taste you on my lips

an errant hair trapped in my beard

i needed this

you

but the dire sequence of morning after events is too much to contemplate

especially when the jackhammers are going strong in my frontal lobe

i wish you’d wake up

dreading it at the same time