Drunk On YOu

Your body
is the best party I’ve been to in years.

Not that I didn’t expect much
I just don’t go to parties
that often.

When I opened the door,
the music hit me
in the face.

The lights, low and dim.
Like your eyes.

My anticipation of seeing you
like confetti spread
across your shoulders.
Across your chest.

You laugh in slow motion,
like a dream
I don’t remember having,
no matter how hard
I try to remember.

I smile back.

Whatever drink you offer,
I take
whiskey,
tequila,
your tongue in a cup
traced in lipstick.

I don’t ask questions.
I drink.

Again.
And again.

Not afraid
to hold
how you burn
in my chest.

You smell
like the bedroom
at the end of the hallway
the one no one else
has been in.

The one
just below your collarbone,
just before
the curve of your back.

The one
I hope to end up in
by the end of the night.

Soon as the guests clear out.

You ask
if I want another drink.

I drink.
Again.
And again.

Like a dream
I don’t remember having.