Porchlight

A year from the day that we’d last spoken,
I popped my hundredth bottle open.
I dialed your number, I was hoping
To hear your answer, pre-recorded.

I didn’t expect you to press ‘Accept’,
So I was getting everything off my chest.
Pouring my heart out to your answering machine,
I took a pause, and I heard you breathe.

I dropped the phone between the seats,
And started searching frantically,
So I wouldn’t leave you hanging on.
Admittedly, the irony was something strong.

You said you were home and had nothing to do,
It was a longshot, but I was drunk and thought I was smooth,
A year since we’d last spoken, Never having met,
I asked “Well tonight, would you be ready for that?”

And you said “Yes, but I might fall asleep.”
So I had to be quick if I wanted to meet.
I ended the call, killed my drink,
and headed for your house
At the end of the street.

You were standing out on your porch,
Staring me down, as I nervously approached.
Even drunk, I could tell you were playing it cool.
Making sure you did nothing I’d assume you would do.
Which was really funny.

No makeup, tennis shoes on, your hair in a bun, looking like you just came back from a run.
I asked “Do you mind if I come inside?”
You stepped backward, into the room, and silently obliged.

We went to your room, and hours passed,
We flowered in passion,
and showered at last,
you came back in tears saying “What did we just do? My body’s a temple, and I just gave it up to you”.

At first I was worried that I’d broken some rule I never knew was in place. I felt like you thought I was dirty.
I was uncertain.
That all changed when I lifted my head, and saw the look on your face; It was that of guilt, not accusation, I could tell you were lost like me.

You put your head down on your pillow. And you brought your body up to meet mine. We were there, our spirits bare, frozen in time.

Two strangers, who both knew we had tried to make something grow where it wouldn’t.
I set an alarm for 6am and set my phone on your bedside shelf. The sun rose, and I chose to go home and shower, myself.

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