You introduced yourself but I knew who you were and what you were. And you knew I knew who you were. But I just said hello and how do you do? And I poured you a drink though you hadn’t asked for one. And I didn’t offer I just poured us both a drink and told you my name, though I knew you already knew it because I had heard you ask your friends about me in the kitchen.
Oh is that so?
And you were shy or rude or both, and stared out the window. But I didn’t care, I just threw back the drinks in quick 1-2-3 succession. Down the hatch. I don’t want to know the trivia of your work -to -make-a-buck life, your loud mouth day job, and I don’t care to share the details of mine. So I grab your hand gunpowder quick, although your choice in shirt bothered me, and such poor sartorial taste on your part could only lead to trouble in our future, if it should come to that. For now, you are here and material and that is why I have to touch you with my hands.
Shall we have a little night music? You know and I know that something has been established in the space between us and though your talk is boring, baby, boring, I think I like you in the flesh, like the very fact that you exist, like it very much that I am ungraspable to you. You thud-thud in my chest (and now in my thighs) and I think I like that I hardly know you.
To us, a silent toast. That I am here and you are here and it has come to this, as it always would.
The wine has become deafening to me and all signs point to the door. Everything is changing. Find my recalcitrant feet.
Goodnight, your name, your name, you deliciously arrogant fuck.
I’m gone.
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