Photo by Free-Photos via Pixabay

It’s confession hour and our heads 

Are sharing a pillow in the middle of the couch 

Hair tangled together, feet draped over arms. 

The room is empty, just filling with words

In the space between you and me 

Your good ear is turned toward me 

And we’re tuning out time, 

Letting this moment melt into the next,

Both too full of butter to bother moving.

“The first time I saw you, I thought we’d never be friends,” I admit. 

You’re skinny like the cigarettes you used to smoke, 

We both know I’m allergic to tobacco. 

Tall like a highball glass where you’d use your body 

As a cocktail shaker for drugs I don’t even know the names of. 

You’re a virgo. A walking hit list of all the things I avoid in people. 

Both of our countries flags are stripped with red. 

We’ve been talking about our weirdest fears, 

How I’m terrified of the snakes you used to love looking after. 

We’re laughing like we’re drunk.

You greet me like every time is the first, 

Before we remember that we’re friends. 

You haven’t devoured your own name. 

But you’ve stuffed your mouth full of bread and regret 

I wonder if Russian dressing would make you feel sick. 

Rain is tapping on the windows trying to lull us to sleep. 

But you don’t want to go to bed. 

“Old me, would not have been friends with you,” you agreed. 

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