I dream of every trip
I thought about but never took.
All the jagged cores of Earth
I could have roamed, like a corkscrew,
the bottles of wine I could’ve
sipped in the arms of a stranger.
all the moments I could’ve escaped,
the sphere of mourning a lost love
and saw our connection of flesh
the way it was:
a cockeyed and hopeful
melding of greed and alcohol.