I didn't like *** with him sober.
I couldn't stomach the taste if him
without spitting a bottle of wine
or a few lines.
Not because I didn't like the way he looked;
I liked how his body felt
and his mother didn't have to lie
when she said she had a handsome son,
but his voice didn't sooth me
and his words didn't comfort me.
He was an empty jukebox,
blaring noise.
He kept me warm when winter
was sneaking through the cracks of my
window.