Not The Best Man


As we stole away
from your brother’s
baroque and ornate
you snagged the last
bottle of Dom
from a silvered tray.

Smiling with conspiracy
you stashed it
up under your dress
God only knows how,
then you put one finger
on your impossibly pink lips
as if this were as much a secret
as the breathless stolen kisses
behind the floral filigreed
garden trellis.

How sweet you tasted,
foamy and sparkling
all at once,
your appetites a match
for my own.

And in the drowsy
after time
when you went soft
and revealed
your soul…

I was afraid.

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