at where i work i know a girl who slurs
her words the way you would-but not the way
when you were drunk and loud, would sway
still tall, balconied, your sentences blurred.
no, not watered-slow-sinking, but laughter
sure, close-confident, talking nights away
in your Christmas-lit room. bedded, we lay
close side by side, wrist brushed against finger.
i loved you once and there in that soft hush;
then her: ladder-perched, her voice a blush.
7.04 / April 2012
Near Sonnet for S
Kimberly Ann Southwick
7.04 / April 2012