what's the heart to do?

tequila swims through my veins like silverfish in a summer creek and i can't nail the walls to the floor. every sip burns with reckless, thoughtful intent; if every decision i've made as an adult is set to burst into flame, why be so bold as to make any more? if there's one thing i've learned lately, it's that if you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth, choke on it before it rusts on your tongue. the last sip goes down like 'tuesdays' by jake scott on nights when the voices explode like fireworks behind my eyelids. tension gulps down mouthfuls of air until we're rationing oxygen and the air tastes like copper. a smoky bar, the years behind us, and we kiss like he's going off to war. he winds his hands through my hair, down my shoulders, and leads me to a piano bench somewhere in the back. the crowd is thinning but his eyes are shining, and his fingers move gently as he apologizes for magic.

i wish he wouldn't. i wish it were snowing. i wish i had bought another warm tequila shot with lime. i wish for... new and different. be any kind of catalyst that suits you.. but for the love of Christ, be different. 

his voice mixes effortlessly with the night, and i hear midnight noise and possibility. he winds his fingers through mine and we are spilling into the night, effortless laughter and something unspoken. i will not get hurt. i will not get hurt. i know how to build walls that keep out his effortless laughter. the late night possibility. 

but i don't have the building plans for that wall anymore. 

that construct doesn't exist, and the past, present, and future are so unsure of each other.