Mad Man

I think I lost us
in a glass of scotch -
softly drowning,
going down like
every mad man
I ever envied.
Why did I believe
your lips tasted
so good,
sweet and heathen
like the heather
I laid you in
that last night
I came home?
I had a thing
for damaged women,
and you could drink
your mother's last words
in everything
we wasted.