a confession

My fingertips on frosted glass
with each afraid to break the other and
shatter fragile shards on carpet.
The tragically red carpet.

We tap tap tap on rims of glass
a chink, a clink for nervous cubes
echoes, echoes in our flinching ears
echoes in the straining room.

I won't meet your eyes,
I won't. I smolder, simmer, boil;
I choke. I let horrid burning spirits--
liquor-- down my rattled throat.

This chair engulfs me, plaid and brown;
I gulp down stifling, padded air and
claws of curtains curdle, curdle
cough out clotted cream and roses.

My face, I know, is closed and gray
Your ever-asking eyes beg wide -
beg big and hazel, anything,
meet coldest wrongs, I hurry away.