Katrina Kaye

I let you follow my eyes
taste my words,
let your hand sit on my shoulder
just long enough,
and your breathe hover near my ear.

I can’t remember how I got there.
How I crept so close to your side.
I suppose you got me a little drunk too,
a caress on your back, a playful snicker,
slow blink, then look away.

Can’t tell who was the cat
and who the wolf.
Didn’t matter who
was following who’s tracks.
We ended at the same station,
two steps beyond the stop sign.

And when it was time for last call
and those dirty lights
of two am sparked on.
Our eye lids were at half mast
and our grins, too bemused,
to realize we were being called home.
To infatuated to accept
it was time to part.

I left you hung over
without so much as
a bloody mary to nurse you back to health.
And as I too sat at home
cradling a pounding head,
I think of how
wicked it was to lead you somewhere
you’re not allowed to go.
To let you feel the map
of my spine then retreat with no
more than an empty bottle
and a sour taste on your tongue.

“Drunk” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore…(2011).