Where did you put your head
last night? Did you leave it with him
when you turned out the light? He kissed
you full on your lips. You were

dreaming this. Because he’s three thousand
miles away. It was after you drank the sea
green appletini and sank on the couch
worried sick about the test results. When the

doctor took your pulse you knew
it was rising as the interest on your credit
card. He knows that you’re scarred
for life. Your future hasn’t been very

bright. It’s been duller than the pale imitation
you’ve invented through your imagination. It’s a
knife that needs sharpening. All it does is leave
stains on your carpeting. What will it be

tonight? Blue as the Harvest moon, tasting
like fresh squeezed oranges. Stirred with a spoon
or shaken? It doesn’t matter at all. Because you
know he won’t call. It’s not the color that does

the trick. You say you’re going to quit. But
you won’t ever get better while he’s in
a different time zone. And so much is left
unknown. So, sink in the drink and maybe
you’ll kiss him again when the sandman says –

he’s the only one who calls in the evening