The citrus of our early love
soured a thousand liquor pours.
A shaky toast to hot, wet throats
and postponement of the war.
A common pause, a thread is lost,
I dehydrate in my car.
A warning friend, “It’s him again,
just leave him on the floor.”
Morning broke all morning
until I was broken too.
In the chaos of that party
I had only heard the room.
A signature in black, at last,
completes the crowded page.
As long as I can remember
the shape of my last name.