poem for perfume (I think)
the taste’s bitter and yet it’s prettier than most things
prettier than me, at least.
whenever they’re not supposed to be sad, it’s like
beer pouring out of a knocked-on tap
unstoppable
or relentless, u might say,
inexorable, I would.
My Inexorable Sadness -
that’s the name of a perfume if I ever heard one.
fills the air, fills the room
covers me, smothers me
like a the sheath of a condom,
but
nicer.