BLOOD OF CHRIST

by Donald Vincent


– after John Skoyles’ Excuse for a Love Poem

Yes, it was definitely the last drink
(or drink before) that made
me feel this way—not yet loved,
but cared for like a first significant

other. It had to be the drink before
last (or maybe even the one
before that) because she began
to make sense. “Religion or sex?”

she asked. “If you can’t choose one,
then you’ll fall for any and every
thing. Can’t stand for either, then
you are a hypocrite.” I understood

it all. Her words made me drunker.
Desire there. The ability to perform,
                                                                                  elsewhere.

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