August 9, 2016
I knew it, today. Out at Foxy Loxy, you got drunk off a single Smirnoff. You missed your chair. Spilled our drinks. You weren't embarrassed, though. Instead, you bent over and looked at me between your legs, upside down. You told me to look at your butt, because you were sure your white pants were transparent now. You wanted me to look at your underwear through those definitely transparent pants, right there in the middle of the café. Everyone was looking at you. You were inebriated and proud of yourself. I was sober and embarrassed. You just kept standing there with your hands on the ground and your butt in the air. And I knew it. I knew I wanted to marry you.
YOU ARE READING
How Autumn Came to be
PoetryI've never understood why the third season of the year gets to have two names. Fall and Autumn. Spring only gets one name, as do summer and winter. It's always been lost on me, what made fall so different. And then I met you. You are the reason the...
