The Legend

Don’t leave your tumbler on the coffee table with its centimeter of vodka and melted ice. Believe

me when I tell you if I drink one drink I will fold into a creature you’ve heard of only in legend—

four-thumbed, rearward crawling, knocking my head like a heartbeat. I want to lie beside you all my nights.

If you keep champagne in the fridge I will destroy myself. If I find the backwash from your bottle left in the recycling

I will destroy you, unintentionally, whole-heartedly. No more the Listerine, the vanilla extract, the glass wipes.

Love, please, don’t let me. I’m so thirsty. Brush the taste of beer from your tongue, or I’ll kiss not to love,

but leave you, our walls, the air arid as if after a five-day fire.