Tiny words fight against
clasped lips.

Bruised hips and
cosmic oxygen.

When life is a sin,
it's worth living in,
worth waiting for
the horizon.

So bring me the sun,
bring me my gun,
bring me gin.

Give me false grins,
and
false positives.

Tip back the flask but all you taste
is hot hose water.

Cold water turned warm by the August summer sun.