DRY

You know

eventually

these closet escapades

will wear thin.

Time and time

again and again

you tell me there is nothing for us

and time and again

you end up inebriated

in my closet

with me

as we fail to practice

what you preached.

And the excuse

that you were drunk

can only last

as long as you believe

that you have no control

over your lips

and your tongue

and what they take in

time after time

both at the bar

and behind my door.

Eventually

you know

you'll have to admit

despite your claims

that you do like me

else why would you continue to arrive

six pack in hand

ready to enter my lands.

Someday

after the waves of nausea

have evaporated

and you've become dry-docked

I believe

you'll see things differently

spy me

not from up high

but in a grounded fashion

and then

where do you suppose we'll end up?

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