Slip of the Tongue

cupidWhile we were lying there with
romance oozing and a bottle of red,
some alien narcotic force
seeping noxious intoxicants
to curl over the huddle of you and I,
milked every millimetre of my senses.

Then some bastard grinning imp
crawled in,
clawed my ankles,
hacked into my belly,
grabbed my heart in its mouth,
lodged in my throat.

A gypsy hag,
clutching blanched calluna
charmed my mind
into believing false promise –
a preposterous epiphany
cackled under my breath.

It felt like a flicker,
winding me down from the outside in,
spinning my head one-eighty,
sucking out my often fatal
razor sharp tongue,
with a devil’s hitch.

I sat bolt upright and
sipped some more
to swallow the bile
back down.

hush my mouth,
button it up, mind your language,
pass soap, water, towels …
get a grip, buck up, grow up,
shut the fuck up and think of …
something, anything, World Peace, War.

That near-miss apocalypse
had slammed into my head
in one passing moment,
a speck of time,
that I fought
and I won.

It won’t happen again ’cause
I hung garlic up outside my door,
Four Thieves on each pulse point,
a silver dime in my mouth,
my own hoodoo grave dust
sealed in an airtight gin kiss,

Because I just nearly said I loved you.
There really is no such thing as a near miss.

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