by Michael Constantine McConnell
Got tore up again, my face
a bloated meatloaf, a roadmap
of burst blood vessels and sadness.
I drink whiskey to baptize
the maggots I feel squirming
in my belly, unraveling the core,
building highways and fleeing
to the suburbs. I blow kisses
into the wind, hope one will carry
to Dallas, find you asleep under
warm blankets and enter your dreams.
May it soften your heart, trick
you into loving me for another round.
May you wake up thinking of babies,
remember holding hands and blinking
contentedly into a lifetime of sunsets.
I miss falling asleep. I miss treating
hangovers with water. I miss trading
gifts, laughing over ice cream,
eating meals just because
they taste good, touching you
when you were reachable. I miss
praying when I believed it worked.