You Only Text Me When You’re Drunk

I can predict your text like clockwork,
like watching the clock work
a soft tick, tick, tick
until it’s the witching hour.

And here I am,
with my black dress and black cat
laughing beneath a full moon.

How you gonna bootycall
all this magic?
All this fire and brimstone?

Once, when the sky was much more orange
and pumpkins loitered every porch,
I let you drip your Jameson tongue
all over me.
I don’t even like whiskey,
but I took a second hand dose
from your lips.
I got drunk off your drunkenness
and remembered why
it’s always dark
when you call me.

Do not think I am that same girl.
The sky looks different
and I don’t see a single pumpkin.
Do not think I am that same girl
ready to love you
in the halfway you can give.

I found my broomstick.
I found my cauldron
and burning lava.

I don’t need you.
Text someone else
when the liquor
hits.