secrets

Long Distance Charges

poetry

I called you up
at 12am my time
10pm yours
on a Saturday night
in January
and you told me all your secrets
like it was nothing at all
as you cut onions on a cutting board
and danced to the music
that played in the back
real low

I was laying in a fat recliner
that was jammed against the wall
so the broken spring was less apparent
as I tried to write those secrets down
and trade you some of mine
but they all just came so fast
that my head started spinning
or at least that would be my excuse
because we’d both rather
leave the alcohol
out of this

sober thoughts

poetry

oh the things brought on
by the flow of alcohol;
how interesting to sit back
to blend in, to soak it all in,
waiting for the moment
when the unsaid becomes said
and the secret so long kept
is spilled
splashing across everyone,
like a laxly held glass of wine;
it can not be taken back;
it can not become unsaid again,
leaving the only solace possible
that perhaps it won’t be remembered
come tomorrow
after the afterglow has worn off
and only the throbbing remains.