Sekt

We half-hearts cling as scaffold Mouths of cellophane statements Morphia inducing as our eyes talc-storm over Seeing nothing in everything Like a tank we collide, by the Edges of a summer vortex pushing as bulimia It is only the intoxication of drink talking However, I am yet to take even one mute glass Empty bottles clutter regardless like rats swan-necked And corner-slipped like zymotic casings Speaking slow theremin thunders Water-washed into neck-delicate walls meeting Vapour hitting equal to bullets or butterflies Equations of minus mixed with minus A downward spiral of blitz-neon roars Sekt and saxophones hitting like opium To a rotten core; and I'm sure you remember If you do then I hate you, and if not you disgust me How I gave your apple back and How my Bohemia is your gate And how my gait is quite unassuming But again, my sweet heart, it is only a larynx painting the air With a true-to-type blue-blooded red-devilled roar.