When you're drunk
you talk in figure
eight’s: the same
figure eight’s
we made beneath
strobe lights
when we were
young.

I spent New Year's Eve
collecting patches
of carpet burn
like they were badges
of your affection.
My mouth read the words
along the seam
of your inner thigh:
love hurts—
and I believed
them.

Not for the first time,
I got caught in one
of your smoke rings:
listening to you
and everyone
talk
[about me]
without talking
[about me].

Kiss me
with slander
still stuck
in your teeth.