drink up

Drink up.
We’ll blame it on the booze that we abuse even though we understand that these emotions don’t originate with our fourth Jack Daniels.
We’ll blame it on Tennessee and the whiskey but we’ll never blame it on you and me.
Because there is no you and me
And there’s no where to be but tipsy because tipsy leads us down the roads we’re too scared to travel sober.
Tipsy leads me to your bed, where I’m lying, your chest pressed against my head, and I’m wondering if the warmth I’m feeling is because of that last Southern Comfort or because I haven’t felt this comfortable in a long, long time.
We’ll drink up because we refuse to acknowledge what is going down.
And I’ll guzzle it down so that I can say I love you and blame it on my inebriation
As opposed to my intoxication on your smell, your lips, your words.
All the words we utter, simple and sweet and filed away in a metal rolodex for later sadism, will be denied in the morning.
Denial is bliss and I’ll deny anything just to keep you here with me a few minutes more.
But eventually the booze will wear off
And the morning will come
And all that will remain will be empty bottles
Strewn across hardwood floors
Carelessly and recklessly
Like the words we utter to each other when we are convinced that the other is too drunk to remember.