Almost Like Just What He Said
Small and resolute. Kiss me. Leave. I forget to breathe as he lays in my bed, all anger and commitment, saved by soft words. Forget. Forget. Your smile fades when you remember all there is to do. Your eyes don’t see me anymore. They caress cold images of what could be.
Drunken, smoky nights…
It is not me. Shouting “fucking niggers” over dim dorm-room light, whiskey scent on humid air and frosty windows. I roll to one side and stare at cardboard walls. Are you standing there? Warm shower drips for hours past your head, and out you step;
Slipping past your lips are gentle sounds I barely hear. I drown instead in sugared thoughts of touch and taste and closed-eyed revelation. I am all poetry and wine, quiet conversations over jazz radio blare. Your world was mine. This must be love. I tell myself the thought might be enough, but I am left with loud gray people in loud gray rooms with loud gray music, and I stop. Stop laughing. I have outgrown my skin. It isn’t funny anymore. I wait and hear
the
heavy
door.
|
Students:
Back to Intro to Creative Writing: Section 1
|
