Lips

It must have been between

3am and the daylight hours.

We’d all had a little too much

and the rain blowing

across his face and mine

left us muttering nonsense,

not sleeping,

that night.

I’m not sure if we woke you,

but at some point

you shuffled over,

sack-race-style

in your soaking sleeping bag

complaining of cold

and falling between us.

Personal space having

been abolished after the

bottle of vodka, consumed

then spun in the circle

we huddled close, bending

the laws of physics to

place three people in the

space of one.

After much wriggling and

more rain and wind

my face was

opposite yours,

my eyes at your lips.

I felt you breathe

out onto my forehead

and drugged

myself by staring

endlessly

helplessly

hopelessly

into the dark.