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 wring the good girl out of me. but my memories talk to me too when i am full of spirits. they remind me that you are unworthy of tasting the sweat of my skin, that you are undeserving of smelling the perfume of my lower back and thighs. they yell that i would disgrace my lineage by even allowing you to take up space in my mind. but i am drunk. and all i can think of is losing my name in your chest hair as i nuzzle against your warm skin that smells ever so faintly of another woman.
i want to express my heartfelt gratitude to you for taking the time to read my work. it really means the world to me. feel free to clap, comment, and/or highlight; your support is genuinely valued on my end. if you are curious on how to and/or willing to further support me. you can buy me a pen. i also value good ol’ fashion word of mouth, so please feel free to share my piece and consider exploring this blog post. thank you again for reading this far.
