Mean it that way

I wonder how many beers you had
before you loosened your tongue
enough to desecrate an antiquated promise,
trashed by the inebriated flush
of lust and invocation of all
the demi-gods we’re not.

“I love you.”

Darling, sleep it off.
You’re slurring your intentions again.
You’re feather-headed
in a mess of sheets and want.
The world is not so rose-tinted
in the stark morning glare.

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