The drunken world leans in, then away,
like a dancer on break who confides a confidence,
then tips back laughing as if to say it was nothing,
just a gray cat switching its tail atop a fence.
Every season must first pass through my windows--
so I like to think.
Come in, sit in the slant on the boards of the hallway
and we'll drink
as if we were pretty as petals on a rose.
I have given up, that's the truth,
and it's such a damned sweet relief to just let everything slide.
The drunken world sways, rights itself, then moves
with us on it, choiceless, birds perched upon a train at night.
I love you. One day I won't, and it breaks my heart.
We're not new at this,
and what can be broken already is.
Please let yourself, this once, just be in my arms;
think of nothing beyond this moment's kiss
so it won't be so bad when we joke it off, let go of the barre, and part.
For my own "Touch of Gray" challenge at Real Toads.