Tonight was full of fistfuls of difficult, sullen, and hard to swallow conversations.
The dance doesn’t involve tip toes like it usually does.
Instead it is comprised of two alcohol infused lovers prancing into the ballroom
Majestically arguing while sashaying to a Donna Summer track.
The thought makes the lines of my face wrinkle from laughter
But does not seem to help the sore from forming on my tongue..
If we were a dance, we’d be the most tumultuous kind,
Full of changing of partners, nights where the kisses weren’t so sweet and
The laugh track and applause from the audience were on almost silent.
You tell me your broken promises and the mantras you’ve lived by.
You tell me “you are very loved”
“I feel too fucked up to feel anything,” I summarize, not noting its not just the alcohol.
Two hours later we are rinsing our truths and laughing comfortably, piled on the bed
Tangled up in the blue.
I tell you my wishes to depart.
You comfort me and mumble “hang on love.”
We slumber in our chaos,