At 4 am,
When you can't sleep,
I dream of being the cigarette
That you indulge in on the back
Porch, loosely holding it between
Your fingers like you once held on
To me and softly exhaling it like
You did my memory.
At 6 am,
When you can't awaken,
I yearn to be pill that you slip
Beneath your tongue and the
Tingle that resonates within
Your bones like the sensation
I once thrived upon from the
Touch of your lips.
At midnight,
When you can't think straight,
I desire to be the bottle that you
Clutch between your two hands
The way you gripped my throat
The night we made love when you
Begged me to scream that I was
All yours (and I was).