I tell you I'm going to write something drunk,
but it's past midnight and the pen is still of ink
despite being more than a handful of shots in
and staring at a page for what seemed like ten whole minutes
but was probably more like two

I text you saying this
and I'm probably a lot more disappointed than you are
because for me the whole conceit
is that I would inevitably write something about you,
and anything about you would probably be closer to genius
than to garbage

I'm not sure what I thought you would say,
it was really more of an offhand comment
to keep the conversation going because
we are both drunk and we are both alone
but what you say, in that sort of ironic deadpan
that only a text without punctuation can convey is,
"You've written these texts"

I say (because I really am, in an idiotic smile way),
"Mind blown"
and you say,
"Write about that"
and I say,
"I will"

Because I'm just in control of my faculties enough
to have the small revelation
that the line between what I write down and what I say to people
is totally arbitrary and self imposed -
not anymore arbitrary than anything else I guess
but that's not the point