Untitled #3, and when i drink i think of faces

[Untitled #3]

When I was young, my best friend was a poet,

and I am writing this while I am falling asleep,

and between myself, and the white light of my phone,

I can see the smoke of caramel coffee incense.

when i drink i think of faces

when I drink I lean against the nearest wet drunk,

whom is prolly staring, absent, through the room,

and I’d look him in his hazel eyes,

and he’d buy me a cocktail with a cherry in it.

when I drink I fall about the place,

lose all sense of where I am,

‘I’ll have a cigarette if you’re having one,’

and we’ll watch the taxis crawl.

when I drink I feel my tongue unfurl

while I roll mint chewing gum across my teeth.

lime racks the bottle, and I feel its aftertaste at the back of my throat,

which has been doused with bourbon, too.