The Morning After

some sort of cocktail laced nightmare unfolds in
velvetine darkness, embracing me in it's exotic haze
through which all eyes are open and all paths are
clear through until the unwanted morrow

when and then will my mascara congeal into
thick globs of pondering why i ever chose this
particular brand and so i am stuck in place unable
to want or wish to move, content in my unhappiness

but then

reality is intruding at the count of three and globby
eyes are closed hoping that the sunlight might just
go away and find my soul awake another day but
alas, my toes are frozen with regret and my head

pounds with an unforgivable resolve that there is
just no way for me to find my rest this morning so
very golden unless i get up to draw the curtains and
in doing so am waylaid by realizing that my bed

is now quite unmade

[dammit - i should have stayed at home and found
my rest in soft cotton]

but then i always ask myself just what might happen
and what i might have missed had a lost an opportunity
to act like this, is this me as i should have been from
the very beginning or is this love affair just a horrific

happening

[how unfair that the missing memory should make
that resolve so hopelessly inclined]

but still i am quite sure, i was an adonis late last night

[that is, if there is a female equivalent.]