It should have been *****.
Like the beer cans littering the table
and their contents drowning our insides.
Mine flitting around like drunken butterflies.
It should have been *****.
Like the words we shared of exes
and the faces we made at the taste of the cigarettes.
After the twelfth, we all get a little restless.
It should have been *****.
Like the basement we slept in
and the hand-me-down mattress awaiting warm bodies.
Warmer yet with clothes gone, and you on top of me.
It should have been *****.
Like three hours before having joked about ***
Having looked across the table
I was no longer able;
to really look you in the eye because... it should have been *****.

Your face found my neck and those lips found my spark.
You kissed me long and hard like we were lost lovers meeting for the first time.
You grabbed me in such a way it felt as though I could float.
You felt each part of me as you asked me what I wanted.
You spoke to me sweetly and let it all unfold.
You'd rough me up and then lay me down.
And you laid me down.
And I'd drown.
In that beer, in those bed sheets, in those hips,
in those eyes.
You have the most lovely eyes.

But it should have been *****.
It should have felt like the beer cans littering the table
and it should have felt like their contents may still be looming
and it should have felt like that basement or that bed or those sheets.
But it didn't.
It felt like we'd been doing this for years.
It felt as though we were finally holding each other again,
instead of for the first time.
It should have felt ***** when you held me the rest of the night.
But when I woke to you kissing my head and pulling me back into your arms,
***** was the last thing on my mind.