I should have told you,
when you broke down on Halloween,
with your face chalk white and hair dyed green,
that I had envisioned us
entwined together and liked the idea,
and that perhaps there was more to it –
that the beating heart inside my skeletal frame
stirred with the rush of hearing your name,
sparking something I had not felt in years,
meaning that having you near was no longer enough,
suggesting that I needed you far closer
than the comfortable distance we had established
as friends familiar enough to drink together,
but not dine together.
I should have wiped the fake blood
from my fake fangs and kissed you
on the mouth tenderly, and then progressed
to something with a little more intimacy.
I should have wiped the tears from your cheeks
before they carved ravines in your make-up
and ran away the remainder of the day
while I got drunker and didn’t do enough.
I should do more,
can I still?
Chichester, Spontaneous, May 2017