While Dreaming of Bacardi

All it takes is a moment where instinct fails
and stupidity prevails - a drink toasted
against my traitorous lips to drag me languidly
back into the gutter where tears always fall
after the laughter dies somewhere high
in my chest cavity, suffocated by the beating
of my heart that seems to think love
has a cock attached to the end of it  
(as though I’m living in Disney’s Aladdin)
and if I rub it hard enough a genie will pour forth
its ageless wisdom and grant me three wishes
one of which would be heterosexuality
that always ends with the dawning
of tomorrow’s hangover

© Indie Adams 2012