a poetic prose
i am drunk, and i can’t help but think of you. i think of you when i am not drunk too, but i will only admit that under these circumstances. because i am drunk, i can be honest about keeping count of the days since i last saw you. i am drunk, so i can confess i did not want to bathe your cologne off of my shoulders. i shouldn’t say this, but i came to the scent of you. you and the spirits do this to me. your big hands…
