Three Sheets To The Wind

The witching hour winds were not at all what you would expect.

They were warm and smooth,

swallowing my face in a rush of air,

leaving me momentarily breathless

in the backseat

of a brand new Escalade.

The Bacardi hit at least an hour ago,

but I'm riding a high I haven't felt

since the last time he kissed me.

His tongue tasted like cigarettes

but it was his lips that were so

intoxicating.

They were gentle and warm

and made of pure nicotine.

I leaned in,

our teeth scraping,

and still I wasn't close enough.

The desire was almost peaceful-

how I could want something so badly

that the rest of the world

ceased

to

exist.

But this time,

through the quiet twilight

of the suburban silence,

the world was more than existent-

it was alive.

It was alive

and I was living in it,

in my own little universe

of breathless wind and nicotine kisses.