The Bad Date Hangover

Underneath my ribs
on a pedestal, sits my
pride and joy, and my
yearning for your hand.
So, like an electrical
impulse, I reach for it.
And then it's my lips, but
you retreat. You slept in
on Christmas morning,
and now your gift is
hardly there. It's looking
for a better recipient. One
that doesn't turn hand
wrapped presents into
sick-looking trash. Achu.