The Days of Wine and Proses

                  Awakening in the sultry morning hours,..lover,.when did you return home from work last night? I must of been tired. How moist and sticky our Summertime bedroom has become. On arising,..in the afternoon on Saturday,.hungover. Your lipstick pressed against the hallway mirror of our one- bedroom apartment. Down to the ground level of our building,.. where moisture drips from the velvet awnings. Midnight margaritas have dried the salt to your sleepy eyes,..awoken from a dream of the great Northern Pacific,. where breakers sway heavily in the deep vast perimeter,..parallel to the unfathomable endless horizon,..blue sky fades to gray,..percolating the distance between your blanketed thighs. A window air-conditioning unit provides background audio between the spaces of your delicate breathing. In the early stages we still struggled.
                Out here,.. on our urban peninsula,. we coat our lives in cheap thrills and fast stomach pain,. our limbs ache unnecessarily,..  as we bang our heads on white porcelain toilets. We lock ourselves in the bathroom at a moments haste,..without any understanding as to why we do the things we do,..say the things we say,..or feel the way we feel. Our lifestyle comes to an abrupt climax every night,..along with the wailing and moaning, crying and screaming. A piercing shrill ,. from the hormonal mouth of desire. We can't live without each other,..yet we long to die so badly. "Please god just kill me,"  I would mumble foxhole prayers to myself during a period of desolation,.. The neighborhood bars and establishments knew us much too well,..we'd be thrown out the doorway,  straight back into hell.
               Love was a plead to an unforgiving black hole,..a god of nobody's understanding. Conditional love spawned loopholes in the expanded short term refuge of self indulgence. The cocaine and jitters pushed me over the edge of pornographic bedspreads,..shield your eyes oh beautiful one,..I got a terrible case of bad character,..and the only remedy was more, more, more. Then the afterlife of resolution, serenity, and boredom. Without you there.