worth it
Spill, by Kim Addonizio
You turn away. I remember again
the first time you turned towards me,
knocking over your glass.
We sat at a table, getting drunk.
The first time you turned toward me
I knew this moment would come:
two people getting drunk at a table,
getting it over with. And though
I knew this moment would come
I couldn't help kissing you,
getting it over with, although
we might have stayed as friends, otherwise;
but I couldn't help kissing you,
starting things up, the hasty undressing, the love
we might have kept as friends, if we were wise.
Now, stupidly, we've come to the end.
Starting things up was hasty, love.
Knocking over your glass
I stare stupidly. We've come to the end.
You turn away. I remember again.
You say love is this, love is that:
Poplar tassels, willow tendrils
the wind and the rain comb,
tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip--
branches drifting apart. Hagh!
Love has not even visited this country.
At the guess of a simple hello
it can all begin
toward crying yourself to sleep,
wondering where the fuck
she is.