Every move I make results in
an aching deep
within my ribcage
(What exactly
did
I do last night).
Try as I might, I can only recall
the vodka that burned
my sore throat on the way down,
the bitterness making
me want to retch.

And when I came home to you,
your eyes were worried
and your cheeks were flushed
like you’d been crying
(What exactly
did
you do last night, darling?).