What dya expect
from drunken kisses?
I touchd er black nylons
er sweatshop stitches –
Er ringd fingas fumbld
as er wet lips partd –
I gropped er net-arse
my rub o stiff chances –
but er give were short
in my piss-poor grip –
she paintd me shirt
as she threw up er drink


The way I sipped
from my coffee cup lid
made me form
the pout of a kiss
and the contact
was almost instant
like the ripe recall
from a perfume
taking one back
to an off-map moment
And that shape
took the bitterness
held in the cup