You arrived tonight, tangled from the waning side of nostalgia,
seeking repentance and a handshake
with weary arms that once carried no burden
but with breath that reeked solely of distilled bourbon,
which subdued the clean scent of grass-stained Tuesdays.
Chocolate words dispelled from your lips
as I'd taste every letter and sentence,
finding myself wanting to indulge
but being rapidly reminded that your sweltering past had melted
into a continuous array of temper and disappointment.
More times than not your daytime lashings
led to nights without Orion,
as eyes were too swollen to squint,
hope too battered to believe,
face too inflated to display.
So you approach with hand outstretched.
I hesitate, recollect, and withdraw;
dissolving my mind and heart,
trimming your face from memory
to gaze at stars instead.