Unbent

I drink like Gideon’s men,

My knees and nerves unbent.

I look up from the sink,

Face red and dripping wet.

But meeting my stare in the mirror

Gives me vertigo in a blink:

And I shrink,

‘Cause I think

That I’m standing on the brink.

Insomnia gives me a wink.

 

I stretch in the morning sun;

I reach for Cupid’s quiver.

I pray his golden dart

Will prick my straying finger.

But Cupid has something to tell me,

This maxim to impart:

That art

Without heart

Is not the right place to start.

Now Cupid must depart.

 

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