Letter to My otherside
Dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound:
beneath the house, the kegs roll in;
the party flips its switches down.
When drunk comes, it comes as sound,
a chord, a liftoff. I ride the rim,
dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound.
He could be anyone, and he abounds.
I slip inside a dance with him.
The party flips its switches down.
Let’s go, he says, upstairs now.
My cup spills. My shirt is skin.
Dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound,
I won’t. Get lucky. Get found.
But kegs run out, the hour brims,
the party flips its switches down,
his hips to mine, his arms around,
a song ends, and dark begins—
dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound,
the party flips its switches down.
2019-10-27 21:21:27
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