Prologue

I've indexed the days
of the past year of my life
and everything falls
into two categories:

Before
and
After.


I.

Before

I dreamed us together
tangled in euphoria,
minds still bent
from hands and fingers and touching.

We'd be draped in exhaustion
and dampened sheets,
unable to gather the strength
to gather the thoughts that were almost there.

I'd fall into the best
sleep I'd had in years,
loving you.
You'd muster just enough
energy to swallow me
with your arms
and your eyes
(just before you closed them).

We'd wake together
and eat eggs over-medium,
and drink black coffee
and read the paper
and we'd be covered in smiles.
real ones, even.


II.

After

I remember us together
tangled in euphoria,
minds still bent from
hands and fingers and touching.

We were drenched in exhaustion and whiskey,
and draped in dampened sheets,
unable to gather the strength or coordination
to gather the thoughts that we could have had.

I'm a million miles away, now,
and I still phone
from time to time--
when my schedule permits,
but the wires connecting us
are somehow crossed
and I fear I sound a bit
too distant
and you sound a bit
too different.

So, maybe I'll see you around.
We'll both smile
(only fake, this time),
and if its not too awkward
you'll say, "Hey,"
and we'll politely catch up
and I'll say, "Take care,"
when you hug me goodbye,
Because that is how
the world works.
Because that is
what is expected of us.
And because you cannot
find love at the bottom
of a bottle of whiskey.

10/22/2003

Posted on 10/22/2003
Copyright © 2024 Leah Laiben