once
all i wanted was
marijuana, martinis,
your lips, and champagne
cigarettes, straight teeth,
cold beer, and cocaine
scratch marks and bite marks
and rug burn and slack
now
all i need is a hole
to bury my intimacies in
and these lines
like branches in the sky
with buds like eyes and hunger
and poems like trees
recycling the carbon dioxide
of our suffering
into the poetry of pain