I have eaten all the cocktail limes…

By Inuya Schultz

I have eaten all the cocktail limes

off the rims of other people’s glasses (again).

The band’s playing Misty and the bar crowd 

looks kind of lovely in this low light.

I told myself that I would hold myself from

squeezing the oils from their peels–

I told myself that I would not gnaw on its

spongey albedo, its teardrop stone pulp–

I told myself that I would refrain from chewing

and chewing until my enamel is curdled–

I told myself that I would not swallow the sour

glob that descends my throat like a plunging gannet.

My stomach cannot take another night of bright burning

and so, I swear that next week I will sit on my hands if it means

it will prevent me from filling my glass with green ribbons.

I lean in and out of other people’s conversations,

I cannot see the pianist soloing just out of sight,

I wane, like the flame of the exhausted tea candle

that sits by my glass stuffed with lime peels.