Ginger

I am climbing down

The neck of a bottle of, green bottle of

Red wine,

Thursday night and cold chicken and

Crime television

And thinking of a warm mass of flesh

Next to mine, to stroke my skin and kiss my lips softly.

And tear me open.

Bottles and cans cover the

Surface of my desk.

watching doing drugs the wine is flowing

and i watch people do heroin on the

tv

and just tonight I get to be

destroyer of innocence

in the form of a redheaded girl

with soft feet and rabbit eyes.

We all have wicked souls.

And like the idea of burning things

And drinking whiskey

And smoking cigars.

We can’t all be James Bond,

And least of all this villain with the blue eyes and the

Open mouth, still tasting of wine and of

You.