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Bar Napkin Sonnet #23 | Moira Egan
Sometimes you have to swallow. I love you
might otherwise escape your lust-dumb lips.
By dumb I mean here dim-witted, not mute,
though I have learned the Helen Keller trick
to see no, hear no, speak no thing like truth.
How could this big dumb guy I’m sitting with
have made me come so hard I damn near swooned?
And now he’s watching baseball as if it’s
a new religion. Jesus Christ. Who knew
that goddamned oxytocin spike I get
could trick me into thinking amour fou.
It’s bitter, but I just dry-swallow it
like aspirin, or confession. I get used
to walking out, my ass and soul both bruised.
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