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