Shakespeare said your lips are like wine,
but you lips are not wine, they are whisky.
Strong and consuming and even when I pull away
I can feel you burning in my chest.
The night we met, I was drunk on Raspberry Smirnoff and you.
We sat outside at 3 in the morning,
wrapped in a comforter and collapsed on the pavement.
I couldn’t see straight, but the stars were shining brighter than I’ve ever seen,
spinning above our heads in the frigid February air.
I slowly drifted to sleep there, but when I woke up it was morning
and I was sober and you were gone.
Months later when I saw you at that party, we hugged and smiled politely
and you walked away without a glance back
but all I knew was that I needed to be very drunk,
so I grabbed a bottle of whisky and drank until the stars spun
like they did the night we met.
*uses selfie for SAT picture*