I think I'm supposed to feel bad about what happened,
but I don't.
I think I'm supposed to hate myself
and blame it on the usual shortcomings,
but I don't want to.
I'm smart, pretty, and sophisticated
(you agreed).
I can be loud, blunt, and occasionally a bit
obnoxious,
but I can't seem to find the words to tell you
that I enjoyed it, you.
Your life story is interesting,
your insecurities are shocking,
and the *** was fabulous.