Your Name Tastes Like Cigarettes And Shame


I roll your name around my tongue
and the hot, bitter tang of you
floods my mouth

You taste of bleary eyed nights
and Marlboro Lights
smoked fiercely, biting down hard on the butt

of Southern Comfort
vomited into the backseat of a car
and venomous insults
screamed at the top of our lungs
that we’d never be able to take back

of clumsy sex in your parent’s bed
behind your boyfriend’s back
and Sunday morning splitting headaches
trying to recall the details
of the night before

on this godforsaken earth
there must be a mint
strong enough
to erase your name
from my lips