Matthew Nienow

Four Years to the Day

but I am still crushed
by that old devotion to drink

to the dream of bitter floral notes
of hops in iced cups on repeat

the swoon of a binge
my daily homage

to the excess of nature
the overkill of spring

my immaculate tongue always
ready to indulge

the deluge of a want
I mislabeled need

even though years pass
in which I bow & bow

to nothing nothing
bows back

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