Pickup

by R. Nikolas Macioci

We leave the dinner party alone,
separate for appearances sake,
We squandered time in restless
conversation, loosing a bit of a buzz
from many glasses of Merlot.
With no apparent explanation
we let our emotions slide together,
decided to free ourselves of clothes
in the late-night darkness of my room.

You could be wearing a t-shirt
that said “Friday Night Fantasy,”
so ready am I to help you out
of a plain white one. We free words,
say soft sounds for which the mind
doesn't even hope.

Later, you roll from my side.
Streetlight blinds me
with your indestructible brooding.
No more laughs or smiles bubble out
disguised as understanding.
I ask you to leave if the naked act
of honest loneliness punches you
in the gut. You have triumphed.
Your handsome face grumbles,
refuses to humble itself.
You have shamelessly turned
my outcry of urgency to your bite
of silence.

Before you reach the door,
I tell you I've already forgotten
your name, to go and dance
into someone else's solitude
while you're still remembered.