Addictable

affable addict doubles down
on his dose, don't it look
fun. cries, laughs. flies
out of shallow hollow sleep
with gusto, barely touching
toes with a nectar tongue,
benefiting power creep.

solar plexus itch
mutates cracked coat
of touchable skin: hovering
o'er ten beet-red oars,
beats me what they're good for.

nefarious end-game
when the way ain't fun, so
scrape, salivate, skim
the overwrought thoughts
off your percolating path,
take a heroic gulp:
then, a few more
for good measure.