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.
in a mess of sheets and want.
The world is not so rose-tinted
in the stark morning glare.