the flight in drunken darkness

It’s only in the intoxicated darkness that I yearn. To yearn is that pang of longing which grips you so tight you think you might keel over.

As my throat burns with the remnants of one too many tequila limes, the bed beneath me soft, the air I breathe still hot, my head spinning— all this and more happens in the real, tangible world—I close my eyes and sink into a darkness which starts from within.

In this darkness, the one I never have to face myself in, I am free, to dream, to cherish. Stars paint themselves around me, my body yearns for a soul. Memories become dreams become fact. I’m standing beneath the trees with you, your face inches from mine, the tender face I want to caress and make blush.

Intoxicated darkness, what sweet freedom you bring, my heart’s at peace and it soars, giddy with delight at remembered love. In this darkness, I don’t remember the dismissal, the hurt, the cruelty, the present tense. There are no flashlights to remind me of dignity and self-respect, no one to shed light on my lover’s loveless gaze, who, in the obscurity, is not clear enough to take another hammer to my heart.

Intoxicated darkness, how gentle you are to me, you bathe me in your soprano musings, teach me to forget daily grinds and drowning worlds. Darkness, how cool, how innocent in ignorance. Don’t let the future come, let it roll on but leave me here. I want to stay in this part of summer, fall in love with the hot blind nights.

Intoxicated darkness leaves me to the heavy headed morning light. It lets me sit among those breezes which spell out harsh fluorescent realities.

Coffee, to numb out the possibility of sleep, I face the day, and wait, again, for a late evening when I can deliver myself to dark, drunken flight.