Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Drunk

You stumble through an open door,
losing your keys to a carpet that keeps moving as you struggle to untie your shoes,
calling out my name to an empty room,
hunting through the house like a drunken blood hound.

I’m at home in my pillows and perfume,
sewing stories together as the sun rises,
you collapse against the bed with glassy eyes,
remarking that I look so inviting,
calling me your candy perfume girl, (at this point, I begin to wonder if I am the only homosexual in the room…)
your hands creeping past the safe spots and boundaries I have built in the bed we begrudgingly share.

You drink me in,
breathless and babbling nonsense,
falling into fantasy filled unconsciousness without another word,
and I lie next to you, breaking down one of my many walls,
falling asleep to the soft sound of you and your nonsense.

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