NaPoWriMo 22
Intoxication
In the mouth.
On the lips.
Down the throat.
Out the pores, the potholes of the skin.
On the breath, sticky sweet and stale.
On the hands.
At the tips, the roadmaps of the palms
taking him nowhere fast.
The spoiled perfume of beer.
The nicotine brown-stained fingers.
The bar smell of fried food and Jim Bean
attached to every fiber of your clothes.
In his sallow eyes.
In his slurred speech.
In his stumble-step.
In his sleep.
In slumber.
In his snores so loud
they quake the house.
In his rest.
In his peace.
In his chaos.
In his control.
In the mouth.
On the lips.
Down the throat.
Out the pores, the potholes of the skin.
On the breath, sticky sweet and stale.
On the hands.
At the tips, the roadmaps of the palms
taking him nowhere fast.
The spoiled perfume of beer.
The nicotine brown-stained fingers.
The bar smell of fried food and Jim Bean
attached to every fiber of your clothes.
In his sallow eyes.
In his slurred speech.
In his stumble-step.
In his sleep.
In slumber.
In his snores so loud
they quake the house.
In his rest.
In his peace.
In his chaos.
In his control.
Comments
Gemma
"The spoiled perfume of beer.
The nicotine brown-stained fingers.
The bar smell of fried food and Jim Bean
attached to every fiber of your clothes."
So this one may not make the final cut but it opened up the possibilities for a stronger poem.