My Sappiness Disgusts Me.

Until the Fall

When we say goodbye,

you hold me way past polite,

                     even a few seconds past good friends.

I like that                               People notice.

The first time I held your hand

(under the pretenses of temperature and alcohol)

you gasped as I intertwined my fingers with yours.

In that moment, frigidity, the long walk, and my aching feet aside,

       I remembered why Christmastime is beautiful.

The second   you grabbed my hand mid-gesture

       and didn’t let me go. And maybe it was the cheap red,

       or maybe the air of celebration, or the excuse not to pack,

       but I didn’t want you to, not even for a second.

Your other hand had begun to travel the landscape of my legs,

       which had found their way across your lap of their own accord.

I remember wondering why I wasn’t mortified I hadn’t shaved,

       fearing a wince at my decidedly un-ladylike stubble,

       but you were so at ease with my body that I was too.

I don’t know what else to say but that I’m comfortable with you.

I’ll never forget your hands on the small of my back

       or the breath they made me snatch.

Your touch was so tender, so pure,

                                  like the first time should be

                                  like we might never be this bold again,

so we ought to make a beautiful memory.

In the process, you made me feel equally as beautiful.

I’d never been wanted by someone as wonderful as you.

Eventually the wine won, as wine tends to do,

       stealing away a moment for which I’ve pined,

but its curse was a gift, granting me instead the joy

of awaking to your delicious weight on top of me,

and my waist between your arms.

       It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done not to snuggle closer

and sleep deeper.

I hope the hardest thing was also right;

       I was only trying to preserve the beauty of the night,

not to be roped off and labeled Do Not Touch,

       but so that it stays fresh in the cupboards of our minds

       until September, when I’ll be brave enough to take the leap

and hope to fall.