prompt: she is like a more perfect version of me, how can he love me instead of her?Mature

We drink until she’s drunk, giggling in the bathroom,
wobbling as she walks over to where I’m waiting.  
The sound of her laugh sends shivers up my spine
and everyone turns to see her but she’s busy
watching someone else across the room to notice.
Someone else finishes off the bottle of vodka and
there’s a small crowd cheering as the shot glass
hits the counter.  Someone else turns on a record 
I’ve heard a hundred times and the sound is all but 
nothing, so familiar that it fades until I forget it’s on.
She knots her fingers in mine and whispers,
this reminds me, I wanted to show you something.
I let her drag me out to her car and she flips through
the albums on her phone until she’s found 
just the right one, she calls it, the smile on her face
outshines the moon and I am more than a little awestruck.
We lay on the hood of her car and I know she’s waiting
for me to kiss her but I can’t help staring at her, wishing
I could save all these moments in a way that would let me
relive them over and over until the song that’s playing
is as familiar as the music coming from inside, until
the waves of her hair on my arm is a feeling that never leaves,
until the warm ripple of her laugh vibrating through my chest
is a second heartbeat known only to me.  When I do kiss her,
she spills into me and everything else dissolves.
She is the nighttime sun and I am watching her rise
over my body as the earth and everything inside me moves
to get closer, drawn to her like the ocean tide and I know
when she gets home she’ll write about the quiet moments
we had among the crickets and the strangers driving by
and I try to tell myself that poetry is just poetry but it 
feels so much like the softness of her voice whispering 
in my ear that I’m never sure if I convince myself.

The End

7 comments about this poem Feed