following Naomi’s theme – I didn’t write this drunk, but I’m posting it after (amidst, really) celebrating my partner’s birthday. I made marinated chicken and asparagus and salad with raw beets, plus garlic bread. we decided to get the most out of our bottle of chardonnay, and drank it shots-style. pure class, over thisaway.
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When I’m not here I’m taking the hill with her, wearing her red beads, she in my green scarf. I am a visiting artist, she an ethanol scientist. We fool men who want to fuck us. Thinking more in love with her than you when we fight across the table. You leave angry and I’m glad to be left with her, necklace cool on my burned neck.
When I’m not here I’m taking the hill with her, sidewalks dirty with weak snow staying longer than its worth. Saying songs about summer are really about winter. Saying things we thought were poetry. Saying the places I float between, the folding place of sheets and sanity.
When I’m not here I’m taking the hill with her, following her legs through the arboretum. She is strong, talking while we climb, and I count through my breath to keep it even. Sometimes I think our bodies match, sometimes I see her small. Sometimes I see her Amazon: more than muscle, more than man. We take the hill. We take the mountain home with us.
