Date

“ He tells me that my body shuts off
Like an angry faucet
Whenever we touch,

“You morph into a winter wave,
You freeze,
You bruise,”

I smile sadly
And peck him on the cheek,
He grins.

“I’m drunk.
Don’t listen to me.”

The bar is sticky
With molding cocktails,
Memories,
Empty kisses,
Cream-colored lust
Splattered onto the plastic skins
Of old red booths,

“Are you drunk, too?
I love this song!”

I open my mouth to ask
If he knows that I hate him,

My question is interrupted by
A ball of old
Unbrushed
Hair
Falling out of my mouth
And onto the ground,

Plop!

“I think I might love you”

His face fills with red regret

“Stop listening. I shouldn’t talk so much.”

I want to sink into the wooden wall
And become an etching
Of initials belonging to long-haired lovers,

A piece of old gum
Pressed underneath the table,

A dated print of an oil painting
Depicting a splintered woman
Who threw kisses to men,
A breed she was not designed to
Play catch with.

An angel with long blonde hair
Rises from one of the booths
Across the bar
And starts to dance,
I try not to look.

I take a shot and look at my shoes,
Hearing my mother’s voice in my ear.

She reminds me to cross my legs.

I take another shot
And yawn.
He leans in,
I itch a fake scratch
On my face
In the opposite direction
Of his mouth,

“Okay, let’s go. I’ve said enough tonight.”

I stand,
Stumble,
Look to the wall once more,
Longingly,

What a life it would be
To live in there.

He grabs my hand
And grins:

“You’re strange.
You’re different.
I like that about you.”