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Thursday, July 3, 2014

Drunk Thoughts On Love On A Winter Night

I’d just pounded back
A double and coke
When you asked me how I felt about love.
I was uncomfortably tipsy;
You were already drunk—
You spoke with a slur—
And weighed against me on the couch.
I poured another drink
When you asked me again,
But I couldn’t answer just there and then,
Because I didn’t know.
I didn’t know then
How I felt about love
Or even if I felt Love.
I didn’t know love until many years later—
You asked me once again
In memory how I felt
But I still couldn’t answer
Because you’re no longer here.

I remember that night, though,
At my now-ex-boyfriend’s party
In his slummy urban shack.
We spent the night
Losing ourselves to the night’s ice grace.
Remember when the snow fell
So hard on the tarmac
We moved inside from the fire
We’d set in the rusty trash can?
Remember that busted couch
Where we first traded names?
You laughed at mine for being
Too old for a younger guy.
I remember.
I remember you thought
You were too old for a younger guy like me—
I said I didn’t think
You were.

How did I feel about love
That first night?
I wondered then if I was too young.
I was in school, after all,
And there was distance
In both space and mind.
But maybe I was making excuses.
With your warmth beside me
The warmth of rum inside me,
We dozed and slumped together,
Your gelled hair crunched in my hands.
You fell asleep and left me
Alone
To think,
To feel,
And wonder
Whether love is real,
Whether what I felt was love,
And whether that was true.

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