by Brian Rosenberger
It's like a cocoon
warm, like blankets on a bleak December day
a protective embrace
bury yourself
another drink to enhance or dull the blade
as needed
everything seems more real, or less
reality, a comfortable distance away
and you, the conscientious observer
the bottle makes it bearable
it's home
and if you're a resident
having crossed the welcome mat
this poem is for you, my beauty,
my vulnerable friend
because you understand the pull
irresistible
my little moth
courting the flame
again
and
again
and
again
and sure you will burn
but don't we all
in the end
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