Hangover

I want to call everyone
I've ever loved
And tell them:
Our time together
Gave me joy so searing
That now, when Sunday
Is muffled and smells
Like sweating bacon
The thought of you tweaking
My nipple through the grey hoodie
I presently sport
Serves enough to lift me
To a slight tearing
Of the eye.

This would only be appropriate
With one man - a shame.
Also that I can't call my mother
And gift her this moment
Or explain how it is
The drip of sepia.
I know she has felt
Big things
Without the aid of gin.
She is made up
All nerves and feelings
Mine just crack
With the first drop
Of serotonin.