Carol Anne, discourse made you clean:
We’d talk all night but never really say a thing.
I’m just something mistaken, really:
For a crush, a heady drink,
Or worse yet, a fuck—
You could give, but never gave.
Instead, I was given too much time to think:
The steps never taken
The beds never slept in
The hours never dreamed of
Of bending and breaking
Of Irish pubs forgotten
Of cold porches with cold chairs to sit in.
I won’t miss your bite.
I won’t wake up to you, and
I won’t waste too much more of my precious (drunken-) ether of time.