charades

that night alcohol smoothed

metaphysical questions away like

running my arm over a wrinkled sheet

bar lights beat us to the end of the universe

flashing heady truths

masquerading as stars intent on keeping us

sedated, pushing & pulling our way through
non-ironically

wanting everything we could have.

the word I drew on your lips

was my only fear, when

I kissed you it oozed down my chest

heavy with the weight of sainthood not

that I want a personalized halo but

promises go down easier than curses these days--

the cure feels grittier than sipping gin

& tonic, pebbles stick soft into flesh

as I skin my elbow bloody on the hardness

of being 22 and young and thirsty

to see real stars for once

not over-painted charades.