Sniff of vulnerability

Scribbles was a tough pussy
with a pink bow that
tied a knot of golden tuffs
just above his lips
that would hover over
the bowl of water
while you watched
and he refused to take
a drink
because he didn’t want to
show a sniff of vulnerability
even if that meant he would
die of thirst
with his pink bow
falling into water,
soaking up the memory
of a line of liquid
that’s since limped
away and evaporated –
though probably,
you’d croak
first.

*

I have gotten into alcohol
recently;
it hasn’t gotten into me
all that well, though,
which can be forgiven with
the money I spend
inhaling the stuff,
plants cashed on
the decay of plants
to decay into plants
on some other day
than today
if I’m lucky
and become a four leaf clover.
I wonder how I’ll taste, though,
how much people like myself
will spend to get into
me.

*

How nice to submerge
yourself in warm liquid
in your bathtub
with candles around
and bubbles frothing
so that heat surrounds
as it leaves you –
meanwhile,
the house wets with fire
and you dry with water