White wine

Bright bodied, you come at me like its night time: 

Tramp Stamp chattering in fishnets 

From your hair to your teeth

You look old tonight, sitting there, 

Opening up to fill your awkward pauses:

Twisting your head, looking for a ship

In my mouth, drenched in slight tilts, jolted 

Clicks of your neck hit the roof hard 

And sting my cheeks hard 

Where you hit me 

just for something to talk about.