I Make My Own Light and It Don’t Run Low

so i had you in to lick

your hot wrist and apologize

for inhaling the scent from

such a wistful gift,

and i feel that way still.

but your charity, it ain’t real.

it ain’t so. you give til it’s gone. the gushing,

it slows.

your gifts of attrition may still

greatly glow, for a time, but i make

my own light and it don’t run low.