Hurt

You knew just what you were doing that night with your candles, your red lipstick and your bottle of citrus flavored vodka. I was down to thinking about you only every other day when you finally called.

Took me an hour just to believe I was really in your apartment again. Then came the candlelight. Never will forget the way you were looking at me out of the corner of your eye as you struck that match. Slowly lighting those same old candles dripping with wax from our cuntless other nights. Your lips pursed tight to blow out the match. Flickering shadows bathing the room and a sweet alcohol buzz in my gut.

Your mouth looked so warm and familiar. I saw the way you watched me. That look in your eye tripping all kinds of internal alarms set up around my still smoldering psyche. I heard the signal for a fast retreat but the response was slow and sluggish, drowned in vodka and lemonade. you had accounted for everything.

It hurt that you though making me dinner and a wide eyed wanting look would be all it took for me to turn on the passion switch and make love to you like before you left me.

I know I didn't perform up to expectations that night. I told you it was because I just didn't feel it for you any more. But as much as I hate to admit it, the truth is I was just too drunk.