Good At Knowing Ourselves

Bumping over winding curves
through memory lane,
Sliding over opaque falsities.
I opened the door, gagging on the floor,
Spilling a mug of fate on the dashboard.
I drank more than an addict;
my head feels like a vice grip tightening my regret.
She tossed her head back,
gulping a shot at what was over the next horizon.
Bracing for the ground to break my fall,
come next fall when she’d leave for New York.
We threw curse words,
the ones we said we’d never say, on a Sunday evening.
We cut the call short.
I cried.
She kicked and screamed,
pour me one more night with her.
A night that burns my throat but colliding
with her through double vision is everything I need.
One more taste of her, I asked God.
Wine scorches my esophagus,
but it’s good at fooling us.
I swallow a bubble
lodged in my throat several times, doubled over,
Wine and warm stomach fluid slapped the floor
My rhinestone ring rests
near the leg of which the coffee table stands
“Why’d you leave me?”
“I never could,” she said,
standing at my door in a downpour.
Pour me one fucking more.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2022 AC)

(WattpadAmazon KindleSpillwordsThe Writers Club)

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