Hang-Over

I awaken-

The sun sifting through the blinds

Does not mind my closed eyes

The light filters through anyway.

I lie in the sinking of my bed

With a head full of sick

And I pick at the strings of hair I missed in

my braid.

My toes, exposed to the chill of my space,

Tingle over the edge of the bed

And I wiggle them to remember skin on

skin.

My arms spread agape

Taking aimless shape

In hopes of overthrowing the empty gaps in

my chest.

The earth must be quaking in my skin

With tattoo pains and needles

Because I am shaking, mistaking

The dry, airy feeling in my breath for

alcohol.

I am not here because of the alcohol-