the phantom scent of beer follows me
finds me walking down mission street,
standing in front of my building,
waiting for an outbound train.

instead of sex
i dream of gin bottles
clinking their curves together,
i dream my hands on the hips
of a vodka bottle.
liquor is such a bad lover
but i can't seem to let her go.

in the morning i feel disgusted with us both
but by noon i'm infatuated again.
i said
maybe if we don't see each other so often
i said
let's be friends
i said
we can dance at parties
go to dinner occasionally
and that's it.
but i ignore all my resolutions
by the second drink,
forget them by the fourth,
and after that
i'm completely positive
it's true love.

i've quit drinking again
and now i'm not nearly as popular.
most of our friends were really hers.
there's no way to avoid her--
if i go out, she's already there,
standing by the bar
sparkling in the dim light.
and i don't like to be rude
so i'll go over to say hi,
but it never ends there.

in an instant
we're lip to lip again
with me begging
baby come home with me.
but i've quit drinking
again.
my muscles layer themselves into sediment
beneath my skin.
at night i grind my molars into fine sand.
i wake up crying
chanting
this will be the last time
the last the last the last
this has to be the last time.
i have got to let her go.