I’m drinking again
And all I can think of, is her.
It’s cold outside
And the warm melted cheese of my quesadilla
Embraces the foamy amber.
I keep talking about the time I fell in love
And even though I know my friend is tired of me talking about her
I don’t care
I get poetical when I’m drunk,
And I dream of my waitress giving me blowjobs
In that perfect way, she used to
The way she would roll her tongue and sometimes use the sharpness of her teeth…
Nothing like the threat of castration
To get harder
She pulled me closer, and I told her my chemicals were for her.
And her skin was meant for me to puncture
And draw monuments to
The way I used the red pen
No one else will know
I remember the swelling of breasts,
Swelling in my mouth.
My mother told me that she never breastfed me,
Maybe that’s why I’m so needy,
I excuse myself for a cigarette outside.
I want to be alone.
And if there’s a god, he’s given me the gift of wanting-to-be-alone.
And I exhale smoke in triangular propulsion
Each howl of wind wakes me from sleepiness
And my thoughts race
To the pinkness of her thighs,
Softness of her hair,
Even the slight coarseness of her armpits.
I’m still thinking about her.
The perfect form.
And I’m thinking about her betrayal,
And I’m thinking about forgiving her,
Our Bodies betray us
But she will always be perfect in my mind.
© A.R. Minhas 2017