When we first met,
you let your nails dig slightly into the back of my neck
as you brushed my hair aside,
and sunk my forehead to your shoulder.
your sleepy eyes were bloodshot
and the sound of your voice was droning.
Trite music, but still I danced on.
Your eyes didn’t even come into focus
and you stare slightly past my face.
Your fingers laced in mine as if
you’d known me twenty years and you were beautiful
and everything I’d feared.
I could smell the liquor on your breath,
cheap beer perhaps and its sickly scent
made your compliments harmless,
not as lecherous as they might have seemed
when you softly whispered them in my ear.
Your breath was wet and we had just met but your nose
grazed my cheek and I could still feel it there weeks later.
“I don’t think I’ll try and kiss you tonight,” you said.
I shivered and you were nothing special,
Typical, and still your flaming eyes and two cent laugh
were magnetic, and you fooled me.
You asked me never to say, “I love you.”
Said, “This is nothing special.”
You were just what you seemed.
And I capitulated just as I always feared I would.
I like this. I like this a LOT. I am proud of this, very muchly.