Pour Another Drink

Loves comes to visit, rings the bell five times,
hair drenched from night-rain. 
She’s dancing and singing something soft
and out of tune. It’s 2 am but I let her in 
because she’s incredible. Pour her a drink. 
She knocks it to the back of her throat. 
Doesn’t grimace. “I want the honesty of you,”
she says, so I spare her all the details
except for his bottom lip. 
How it tastes like peaches. Or something. 
I gnaw at her curves, kiss her perfect fat. 
“I’ve been waiting my entire life for you,”
I whisper. She smiles. “How does it feel?” 
My stomach summersaults, beats its wings.
Like spring-time.
Like a dream of cellos tuning in a field.
Now I know I won’t be ruined forever.