To Read Her Poems
she wasn’t as alive as she thought she was but none of us were at that age i guess i could say she had more life in her than most
freshman year was hell it was a good hell but it was hell all the same
no one had any direction back then so we did what we finally could do guzzle booze and have sex with strangers
young wild and unchained
we met at an open mic i was there supporting a buddy who plucked a guitar and could drink hemmingway under the table
she was there to read her poems
which led to a long night of talking drinking and well, you know the rest
she read machiavelli wrote poetry preferred painting to a night downtown
i was into her and poetry rum live music
we had each other for a while
she taught me the ways i would carry with me forever and i gave her the studious devotion of my body
but once the steam simmered and the dream slithered from our lips down our legs onto the floor
we realized we were and we weren’t who we wanted to be
and that was the last kiss i ever gave to a poet
