Cocktail Hour

I know you are in
your vanity gazing back
your perfect carelessness
tossing that hat on your head
you head down
stairs to the line
of bars
waiting.

the girls that love you
wait. you don’t know
the spell you cast

It’s cocktail hour
you are sipping dirty
martinis. you hate olives.
I love them.
what we have is not
the same, it’s not different.

it’s cocktail hour.
the bars are open.
with every sip that slips
through your lips
my bars open, too.

it’s cocktail hour.
your hat is sliding to
your left, my right,
I think I can catch you.
I can’t. it’s your gravity.
I can’t break your heart
or my boundaries.

five drinks and I can feel
your smile grows
gleaming, streaming
straight vodka

it’s cocktail hour
we are stumbling up
stairs to your Third floor
Fifth Street apartment.
Inside.
You take my hand
guiding me to your bed
room where we fall
under the sheets.

you smile.
we kiss.

I disappear in the sun
before you can see
I love you.

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