You arrive late.
Half-smile on your face.
Your tongue is thick,
I love the taste.
“Welcome to my new place.”

Haven’t seen you in a year,
you come out of your skin.
You’re tripping on your sneakers,
beg I let you in.
I say,
“Where have you been?”
You answer,
“Where do I begin?”

You’re coming early.
I mean this
guratively.
Demeanor is cautious.
Unprovocative.
You’re still
so fucking talkative.

“Haven’t told you in a while,
but you’re the reason for it all.
You’re a vital complication
I nеver seem to resolve.”
I say,
“Why all this silеnce?”
You answer,
“Mind’s been so violent,
a tyrant.”
You’re boring me
with stories
of your unproductive glory.
You say the only thing
as good as that
was me.

I put you in my bed
again.
I take you down
like medicine.
Revisit the same old
regimen.
Just substitute
the gentleman.