Tuesday, November 30, 2010

St. Andrew (patron of Scotland)

I kissed you from the

dusty curb underneath

the guard rail.

How I ended up here,

I’ll run through my mind

over and over until I

trace it back to that bottle,

those glasses shining

from the fireplace mantle.

my mouth was full

of ink and everything

I pressed my lips on

remembered me

from class, or high school,

or the checkout line

at the grocery store.

I shift in my shoes.

I didn’t mean to write

all these stories

with my kisses.

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