does it make me weird
if i’m still thinking about it?
i swear it’s nothing but the good;
five or so hours later and i can still feel
your hands, running smooth lines up my back
and rough ones from my hip up to my hair,
almost desperate in their attempt
to hold on.
i was there, fully aware
of you, you and your shifting footsteps,
off-balance, while i stood and tried
to keep the cold at bay-
even though my skin was chilled,
my bones were warm and stable
and i did what i could to keep us from falling,
tumbling onto the grass
although
i may have thought about
the cold ground, and considered it
as an option.
is it strange
that i am writing about this?
tell me, is it so bad that i just want
to tell someone, to explain myself, to say
that i’m still drunk,
almost six hours later now, intoxicated
with that worn-out metaphor, but it describes this
perfectly,
this weird haze of colourful clarity
that separates me, even now
from the cold, dark wind.
i feel drunk, and i’ve felt it before
and i know that when i wake up tomorrow
there will be no headache, no regret
only a small, knowing smile on my face
as i get up, get dressed
and shove my hands in my pockets, fingers crossed
that you and i will go drinking again today.