by J. Patrick Brown

How much of a joy it is,
- sometimes -
To be wrapped in your arms
On late evenings
And in those mornings
Before we are fully sober.

Oh, how it is more often
a delight
than a terror
to see you, half-clad
upon my waking,
cheap red wine
as your lipstick.

And oh,
How I hardly have to qualify
My certainty
- at the time -
Intoxicated, as I am, by your smile
And a little bit of nostalgia,
And a great deal of liquor,
That I love you,
That hour,
And possibly
A half-dozen more.

 
J. PATRICK BROWN is a teacher and journalist living in Boston. This poem is his last, pathetic attempts at creative expression before lapsing into a dark and dismal mediocrity.