I didn't like her as soon as I met her.
She'd known you an hour, and said your name wrong.
But she was pretty and little, and blonde.
You smiled, and charmed, and I rolled my eyes.

For Christ sake.

While you were out for an hour or two,
I knocked on M's door with a bottle of Sprite
from the vending machine downstairs.

Let's toast.

I unscrewed the lid and she uncorked the bottle.
She didn't ask why, just nodded and agreed.

**** yes.

Fizz, fizz. Glug, glug.

There's a mug in my hand, and I'm drinking it up.
Tastes like sweet soda, not at all like wine.
We're sitting in silence, when I start telling M
I don't mind, really I don't.

At least you're over him.

She pours, and I swallow,
the bubbles pop in my mouth.  

I hear you come home, little blondie in tow.

Have a nice night?

I ask loudly, standing too close.
You're toeing your shoes off, and I realize we're alone
in your room.

Go for it!

The wine whispers, urging me on.

Can I help you? I'm trying to change.

I want to do something, but what?
I'm scared you'll smell the sugary alcohol on my breath,
and dismiss whatever I do as a buzzed regret.
But I wouldn't regret it, what I see in my head.
I would go to you. I'd kiss you and kiss you,
till the wine wears off, and my lips are red
and a little bit raw.

Jesus.

That's what I would do.