don’t call here drunk

oh i oh i
could bite my tongue clean through;
my fingers
tap out heartbeats
picking routes through
qwerty
that will never
awaken her
building syllabic walls
between us,
surrounding the children
without protecting them

i send my message into space-time
wishing for a do-over,
just erase that one day,
that mother-fucking moment
meeting her,
blue eyes blazing
i, naive,
not recognizing the gaze of a predator

this dance is worse
than Stairway to Heaven
at the seventh grade prom
the smelly boy holding
on too tightly
and it never seems
to end

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