For CW

You are the center
of a million thoughts
fizzling smoke-like from a cannon,
just trapped outlining a powder
keg
in the rain.

The teeth in your mouth
are an effervescent
glare
against the bottle of bourbon in the top drawer
of the borrowed dresser you loaned me.
You’re pretty,
Like hibiscus in a tea bag,
and I want to taste you.
I wont,
ever,
because when I come around
you’re only a bud and
not a
bloom.