His going away party

and we were focused on our words.

I kept mine between my teeth before he poured my drink

but then I couldn’t find them two rounds into King’s Cup.

I slept in his bed once the wine was gone.

His scent was stitched into the sheets but

I don’t remember how we got there.

I only remember how he wanted to teach me

how to say “hello” and “goodbye” in his language,

but I wanted to sleep

so I spoke into the pillow and kept my eyes shut

until his lessons dissolved into the next morning.

We met twice after that

but if you were to ask me, I would call that night,

with the both of us more than tipsy

and his hand on my back,

with his language slipping past my tongue,

our last look.

There was no deep glance into his eyes

that might have seemed like an ocean if I was lonelier,

just the both of us easing into a simple understanding

that his bed would be the only thing shared between us.