Wasted

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I am wishing for a small thing
to give me pleasure.
Just something little.
A gesture of sweetness,
like my lover’s fingers rubbing the soft skin of my forearm
as he held me;
a touch of comfort
in the rain.

My heart grows drunk
on small sips.

I am a lightweight,
easily intoxicated
by smiles,
or better yet kisses.

But you are dangerous.

A shot of tequila,
aged well and strong.

Your words of love
go down smooth
like liquid fire.

I could easily
drink a case
and end up wasted.