Beer tastes just like it smells.
That night, when you kissed me and your mouth tasted like beer and we couldn’t stop laughing, I thought briefly that maybe beer just tasted like you.
And you leaned up for nothing but a moment–to laugh or to speak I cannot remember–and I pressed my lips softly to the curve of your neck. Softly, so softly. Because we were sixteen and I didn’t want to mark your skin in our fervor. Didn’t want you to look in the morning for some way to cover the reminder of me on your body. You held my face, tilted my chin up so that you could kiss my lips once more, and yet you missed, pressed your mouth the the corner of mine. We laughed in the embrace of our friend’s bedroom light.
As we stumbled down the steps toward the music, and the liquor, and the noise, we were inches apart for fear that the distance would break us. And as we became rooted to the stairs, I fell into your embrace, and you kissed me again and I was unabashed in your presence. We were not a spectacle to the world of teenage society any longer, we were two girls on the stairs, drunk and in love and laughing into the mouth of the one person in the world we wanted to love the most. We were your hands and our mouths and your eyelashes and my heart. My heart. And when he tripped over out legs because we had taken up the path to the world, we laughed, and we were safe, and life was good, and I was in love with you.
And let me tell you. Let me tell you if I remember anything, I remember looking into your eyes and marveling. This will not last. And so I will hold onto you tight while I can.
Soirée Songs
ts&s, (2019)
