Always, when my sound becomes too free to keep
I forget to say I've snuck you into my stories,
Both told and not, all dangerous.
Tonight, I dress in black and order something dark
like Bailey's and bourbons.
Something hard to forget.
I know you'll show up, and if the time is right,
I'll pull one on you. That's what we all want, isn't it?
And you'll follow me around, asking,
"What did you mean by that?"
It'll cost you dearly for me to tell.
Perhaps a kiss or a bathroom encounter.
Perhaps a swearing of eternal adoration.
Perhaps a replacement story to hold in my throat
As ammunition.