Dreaming of Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
The wine is cheap, but sweet,
and fast. My eyes see stars
in the tiny kitchen, floating
over the microwave oven, I'm eating
Brie on crackers, alone— wearing
a Christmas jumper. Drunk.
I'm not looking for anyone to love
all I'm searching for is self love.
I'm hunting enjoyment of my own company.
I'm not a monster, for once, the self
loathing dissipates into laughter.
It's Christmas. I'm learning to be happy
I'm learning to drink six euro
2015
Cuvée Réserve; singing Sinatra
and smoking rolled cigarettes.