Morning caresses my lips
With a squalid kiss -- the taste of last
Night’s stale liquor, a greeting most
Usual and unwelcome all the same.
Sated beyond means, I still am
Stricken by thirst, dry lips parting in
Consternation, heavy hands
Fumble aimlessly for old reliable, that
****** bottle of advil that may as well
Have its name etched in my dresser drawer
The morning after may be ripe with regret,
Hazy recollections draped in uncertainties --
But at least one thing remains surefire and
Constant --

Thump -- clank
My head, the door, my achy feet
Taking their first apprehensive steps
Into their habitual walk of shame
The mirror salutes me with the
Visage of a woman worn, tired and wildly aged --
There’s no way we’re the same person
Or are we?