i generally lose count myself after
five, or maybe four. i'm not sure how
we ended up at your parent's house, but
i remember you driving streaks of light
in the rain.
i don't remember why i loved you, only
that you wanted me to say it. it was real
for a moment, when you pressed your fingers
between my toes.
how long you lay wasted, i couldn't say -
sometime between the late show and the
morning weather. i had gone through your
photo albums, huddled against the heating
vent until the morning birds awoke, crying
whywhywhywhy.
i don't remember why i loved you, only
that you wanted me to say it. it was real
for a moment, when you laughed and wine
came out your nose.