Nights of solitude, with just enough beer, and the science of laughing through the tears..
In the end I couldn't tell if we'd been so different from the beginning or if our indifference over time had simply made us so...
You know, Japanese culture has this ancient art called "Kintsukuroi" where broken pottery is repaired with gold or silver to demonstrate the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken

He’s drenched in sweat and he’s teasing me.
His body radiates an uncomfortable heat
That melts our skin together seamlessly.
Our eyes slowly meet.

He kisses my neck and behind my ear.
And his breathing becomes heavy
With the sweet scent of beer
That lingers and brings me to ecstasy.
He tightens his grip on my waist
And I can feel his pulsing vein.
It throbs violently and in haste,
Yet deafened by the sound of rain.

With my fingers tracing his face
And my tongue swimming in his mouth,
I’m in my happy place
On this broken couch.

I wouldn’t call it seedy
It’s not dingy, after all
Dark though, and loud
Almost always filled with a crowd
(Especially during happy hours)

The lights are low
(the prices too)
One plus one equals four
And soon, the time passes like
Clouds outside a window

The TV glows
With cricket or football
(But who’s really watching,
right?)
The soft conversations together
Make a loud hum
Of laughter and memories
And beer burps and orders
And call for bills and-
Maybe one more pitcher?

Four hours later,
Everything is closed
The mall is silent
As a graveyard
And we sway through it
Af if floating on air
Skipping stairs
And small talk

Looking back,
I don’t say goodbye
I know we’ll be back
Next week
Amongst its postered-up walls
And high ceiling,
Talking over its loud music
Comfortable,
Happy,
(And drunk).