Friday, September 17, 2010

There Was No Snake Oil Cure For Unlucky In Love

I was obviously drunk when I told you I loved you. You were wearing a white shirt, I thought the fabric smelled good. I leaned in towards your ear because the outside noise was loud, and I said "I like your shirt". I kissed you sloppily on the cheek. You blushed, were silent, but received my kiss with grace. Encouraged, I kissed you on the cheek, more carefully, more lightly this time. I said, "I meant to say 'I love you'".

You gripped my hand tightly and pulled me out of my seat. I stumbled and blushed, secretly pleased, my palm pulsing "yes yes yes". We stepped out into the rain and ran the sidewalks like it was summer. The wind hugged us closer. You invited me to my home. We exchanged our wet clothes for drier skin. When I closed my eyes the world spun counter-clockwise.

We staved off loneliness all night. The back of my head beat pulsating rhythms pound pound and a little bit suffocating. On your collarbone I could smell your white shirt. Or perhaps on your white shirt I could smell your collarbone. I hugged you close like the wind, I felt you move through my body.

In the morning your heart was a smaller size. You said, "my feet still hurt from my new shoes."

I said, "I will carry you.

"I know how the world is cold sometimes".

3 comments:

laura said...

le sigh. this is nice. can we hang out inside while it rains sometime?

saint modesto said...

laura: under the covers

Anonymous said...

love it .