There are whispers in the night speaking
spells and swears and dares and proclamations
and they sound as playground chatter sounds,
or somewhat-dated hip-hop (Just like that?)
And when the sun comes up each morning
all that’s to be found are the drinking glasses
from the night before.

But to count the glasses is to count the mis-
steps in your adventures, and steps so missed
are not so forgiven by Pitfalls or God or Anyone
(Or Me)
So know, as truly as one can know anything,
that when I catch your lips sipping from another cup,
I will not cut out your cheating tongue.
I’ll have known you’ve bit it off yourself already.