la la lia

Playing 23

when our hands first met
and our lips connected
it felt weird, wrong, foreign
as expected,
that’s how it felt like
with the girls before you
and after her.

i know you hate
when i write about her
and you hate it even more
that i never have anything bad to say.
i’ve just never been a sore loser,
i’ve always been a great one,
and there were less bad than good days
and i don’t mind greys
when they’re followed
by rain falling on my face.
i’m hard to rattle
and even harder to impress,
but i digress,
this poem was meant for you
and just wanted to say that,

when our hands meet now,
i’m in an expensive hotel in new york city
and we’re shitty off of canned beers,
eating candied nuts,
and playing cards in our underwear.
it’s super humid,
i was stupid enough to
leave the hot shower on
in a tiny room.
we watched mtv music videos
until we died.

when our lips meet now,
we’re in a cheap motel.
you told me not to bite the tablet,
but we needed to cut it in half
and i’m not a very good listener.
i think i was too drunk to feel the high
but the future spoke through me
when it said, “i love you.”
i thought i was lying
and we thought it was funny,
but it’s lightning when you touch me.
and it’s long drives, and love, and life
and i say, “goodbye–
and you say “cya,”
but that’s just a song we sing,
la la lia.

“la la lia”
©Steven Cuenca


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