Saturday, 2AM (First Draft)
I was everything you deserved.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
Amber, fatigued, muddied from too much vodka,
said, “Bum a cigarette?”
Nelson squinted at her. “You hate smoking.”
Amber shrugged and leaned into Joren, her lover’s, breast,
breathing in his pot-saturated t-shirt
Joren brushes away his raven-black bangs
from his greasy face, surveying
a congested, compounded living room, beer bottles
abandoned on the sticky floorboards.
“You wanna share a joint?” he asked her.
“If you want to.”
“Do you want to?”
Amber shrugged. “No. I just assumed you did.”
“Why did you assume?”
“You always assume with me.”
I miss those nights
we got drunk together
how we always stumbled into each other
grasping our beer-stained jackets
Julien Baker swelling in the bedroom
lint sprinkling from our pockets
laughing into the crooks of our elbows
curious how scared we are
to see each other naked
“D’you want to leave?” Amber asked.
Joren sniffed and swallowed the last of his rum and Coke.
Joren also shrugged. “Sure, if you want to.”
Amber doesn’t move, glaring at the two teetering men
jeering at the two women in the doorway holding hands.
She notices one of the men mutter, “Dykes,”
before the two collapse into the beer-soaked sofa,
and Amber wonders
the brave lovers pummeling those bastards
to the floor, the coffeetable
in a brilliant supernova of glass, beer,
cheap gin, pot, shattered bong, stained playing cards.
“God bless the lovely children,” Nelson snickers
into his tepid stout.
you love combing your clammy hands
through my coconut-shampooed hair
this irresistible charm, a magnetic force
drawing me, coercing me into submission
into your tainted universe
I sometimes hate how much I’m obsessed about you.
“I’m wasting my time with you,” muttered Amber.
“Sorry, did you say something?” asked Joren.
Nelson glanced up from rolling another joint.
“I think I need to go.”
Joren nodded. “Okay, I’ll take you home.”
you kissed me.
You’re too beautiful to despise.
no, you’re not
embrace this embroidered utopia of expectation
and hate me tomorrow morning
Amber sighed, misplacing her housekey,
and flinched at the empty cups from McDonalds
tossed underneath the passenger seat,
the upholstery doused in Joren’s musk, his
naturally-scented, raw body odor
the sweaty shoulder blades she kissed
and caressed months ago.
Amber placed a loaded palm on his thigh.
Joren snapped his gaze at her,
arms locked on the steering wheel.
“D’you want me to go inside with you?”
Amber shook her head, “Nah,
I just wanted to be certain
you were still flesh and blood.”
Joren fell silent.
on a jagged beam
grasped splintered metal,
my mangled fingers
deeper into the gutted vessel
“Are you sure?”
Amber nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Joren and Amber kissed.
Her hands grasped the door handle, but
she remained in the car.
Joren said, “Yes?”
Amber said, “Can you kiss me again, please?”
He reached over and kissed her again.
“Some days, I wish all you did was kiss me.”
Joren stroked her hair.
“I wish — ”
Amber opened the car door and left him,
the dangling sentiment spooled in his lap
like a failed attempt at spitting.
I wish you were in New York City,
Los Angeles, Seattle, London, Barcelona,
Madrid, Paris, Tokyo, Sydney, Athens,
Belfast, Dublin, drenched in Tahiti sauce,
Worcestershire sauce, ketchup, Guinness,chips,
brioche, wrapped in satin, chiffon, Charmeuse, Habotai,
organza, swabs of cotton and tweed, warped, muffled,
distorted by folk music, electronica, ballads, shoegaze,
pathetic love songs, dreamscape songs
about falling in and out of love, hating,
tearing into my own flesh
tasting my own blood for the first time in my life
who truly is the least of these?
i love you
where have you gone?
do you want me to find you?