This woman’s back
like a pistol through a pint glass
placing me perfectly into sections,
hung by the nose, chasing scents in deliriousness.

Arrested by her confidences
pointed at me,
they’re quick to slip thoughtless from her lips
with little time for reflection.

She could wear me dry
flushing the rest of me
swirling backwards
stepping quickly in rough corrections

Eyes opaque,
with high heels
clicking to their last echo
etching notches on my
levels of self defeat.