Thursday 10/13/2005 10:55:00 PM

I still remember sitting at Friday's with restore-a-boy for the first time. I'd had one beer and I didn't want to have anymore. I had to drive myself home. But he convinced me. He said he'd stay and hang with me until I was mostly sober again. And I believed him. Him and his crooked smile.

So we both had another beer and continued chatting. I liked him.

I still do. Even if he didn't have much use for the drunk girl.

He's the only guy I ever spent any real amount of time with as an adult and didn't have sex with.

We literally slept together one night. We both fell asleep on my bed. But no sex. Come to think of it, not even a real kiss. No tongue. Just lips.

He used to say, kissing is extremely intimate. He might still say it. He just doesn't say it to me anymore. Or anything else.

It's not as though I've never been kissed. That and too much more. But I've never been kissed by him. And sometimes I still wonder how it might've tasted.

I can drink until I don't know my own name. But somethings even beer can't erase.

I guess that's why people stop drinking. Because at some point what once was heaven becomes hell.

Trouble is I'm all right with damnation.


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.