My Haze

I have all these things, These emotions and needs.

Just THINGS.

I’m out of the beautiful words.

I want to say how the red wine haze makes me ache to see your flesh.

How the loud music hides the sound of my heart beat.

Can I tell you the dim lights make me want to taste you?

If you asked I’d strip to nothing and let you seep into my bones.

They’re stuck in my throat, these words.

Trapped by red wine and dirty jokes.

I want to taste your fingers, a salty mix of you and french fries.

This is so heavy, the need to touch you.

Its settling into my pelvis and sits there, simmering low.

Ready to boil over with just a touch. A hint, a subtle glance.

Or a cheeky quote over wifi.

I’ll blame the red wine, you’ll blame the gin.

My mind will yell about your beauty, and how your smell makes me crumble.

But I’ll give you a call, or text next week.

Maybe.

Will it ever come?

Next bottle of red wine, and glittering scene of strobe lights, and loose morals.

Maybe then, I can say these things.

With flesh shown in honesty I’ll show you my red wine flush.

I’ll trace your judgment with my fingers and tongue.

Releasing into a dark cushion of star light, and poor choices.

These are all the things, just the few things.

These needs and emotions, swallowed and hidden by another shot.

Maybe.

2 thoughts on “My Haze

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