we went through
three bottles of wine,
spent the evening
in the embrace of
soft conversations
on table thirteen.
it was four o’clock.
sun nowhere near.
you moved closer,
leaned in,
and i froze.
i couldn’t breathe.
i had no idea
what you were doing.
i was locked in your eyes
until you broke the moment,
laughing —
you’re so easy to ******.
i felt something in me split.
you’re not stupid.
i know you knew
that my heart
this year has been
only beating for you.
until you lifted me up
as our lips brushed,
for the first time in months —
and the night blurred
in the back of a car,
all glass and gold streetlight.
the heat of your laptop
on my thigh,
netflix playing rick and morty —
at first, we watched,
then it faded into background.
i fell asleep
in your clothes,
your scent
settled into my skin
as you held me close.
this one is about the table where every story began.
August 14, 2025