Free spirited, opened minded, and an adrenaline ******,
you never took no for an answer,
always suggesting
something outrageous to outdo the time before.
You encouraged me to push the envelope
when I begged you to play it safe.
I was sipping my second Shirley Temple when you swallowed
the last mouthful of your twelfth glass Busch.
You spent the night mumbling snide remarks
about the shirt I was wearing to your friends
across the table while I sat there biting my tongue remembering
I still had ink healing from our last "adventure"
a few weeks ago.
Leaving hours later, I helped you
stumble into your apartment and land on the bed.
I slipped out of my blouse and walked
away trying to ignore your comments while my throat burned.
I couldn’t take the accusations.
      I hated getting to this point,
yelling at each other from across the room until the sun peaked through
the pane of that little kitchen window.
Talking in circles even though we knew
neither of us were going to win.
This time, I assumed would be like any other, ending in
the innocent, small town girl getting sick
from the constant the back and forth
          but you got up.
Walking in my direction, lighting
candles as you went,
creasing my face and pulling me in
you whispered in the voice I hadn’t heard since that first I love you:
I’d rather fight with you than make love with anyone else
    and at the end of the day
I realized that was all that mattered.