I love you so much; it’s hard to even write how much

my hangover is intense,

like concrete feet


dropped off a shady

east river pier -


light mottled & wishing

for lucid moments


grey cells too scarred from

agave worms to think about


self care and whatchamacallit

jobs and miracles; children or vehicles...


then you entered, well i dragged

you, into a gloomy place


full of paper-whites and Jesus pictures

sad excuses for life choices


every damn time i stood up

i fucked up the music - skipped


from sixteen to thirty-five

i drowned in

the liquid - smoked the


State of Virginia

got raped by an entire


cadre of militiamen.

yet still i stomped out some


sad merengue

hoping my hips could still seduce


some kind of something -

some kind of miracle -


a kiss that can feel

like the mouthing of prayers


yet such fullness can cut

like hooked bone of a finger


then you chose me; you liked my voluptuous

anger, my verve, or elan; my dark bangs


hanging - blindfolds to cover the past

the pain, but you noticed me swaying


and asked me to join. took my hand -

and there, is history - what else could there be?


like you said, the light is so beautiful to see.

Elisabeth Horan is an imperfect creature from Vermont advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain - especially those ostracized by disability and mental illness. She has work featured at Hedgehog Poetry, Moonchild Magazine, Former Cactus, TERSE. Journal, Blanket Sea and Milk & Beans. @ehoranpoet