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My Maps are All Wine-Soaked and Lead Me to You

by Megan Guimbellot

The last rays of daylight cling to your hair like fireflies before night wraps its arms fully around us
And in its steamy August embrace we drink like butterflies growing lazy in the heat// scotch, gin, wine, whatever bottles are still clinking out songs in our otherwise empty cabinets// I know we won't cool down until our heads are swimming so I tip a glass against your lips to get you closer
to where
I need you to be.

I like the way you feel next to me
Our shoulders lean against each other of their own violation and strands of my hair snake down across your chest, tangling each time the wind sighs around us, contented.

We call the stars out one by one with clinking-ice wind chimes// They blink shyly down from behind the light pollution curtain that envelops your city and seem to know what you are thinking when a smile touches your eyes ages before it reaches your lips and in those gaze-locked, breath-held moments I wish more than anything else to know as well.
Though we are floating in an endless squealing-tire sea of car horns and distant bass thumps I swear for those moments
A silence Antarctica deep, like churches at midnight, like somewhere spinning deep in space// It is immense and delicate and something to hold onto.

But when you blink and look away and sound creeps back into the world there is nothing left to do but pour another shot,
toast to the night,
and knock it back.


Author's Note: This is what happens when you hesitate.

Posted on 08/09/2013
Copyright © 2021 Megan Guimbellot

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/10/13 at 01:51 AM

I held my breath as I read this one to not encroach on the silence. Thanks for this!

Posted by Paul Lastovica on 08/17/13 at 02:27 AM

"a silence Antarctica deep, like churches at midnight" - that, above all other images, really delivered. I reread with new appreciation once that line hit me.

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