dead on arrival

If I drank wine I wonder what it might be
      like to share a glass with you,
       maybe we’d even finish the bottle
                                       by nights end.
    I’d wonder how our glasses might flicker
                        from my little distance
         & the prisms snatched off tealights
       as they kiss your mouth in shadow                           

                      before I had mustered
                                         [up the courage]
                          the chance to.

   I could sit and pretend I’m different now
                        as I was then
                 but my eccentricities
                                         [refuse to let me]
      & now
          I don’t believe I was ever really
                      as free to be myself
  I was hoping your mouth could bring
                                           [us both out]
          because I think you’re pretending
                                                        too

            Could it be we were both dead
                 on arrival so much so we both
                   had to meet to be revived?
          Do I dare to think we agreed to this?
                      Do we dare…

–LM