Shaking Poem by Maria Schmitt

I stepped outside of myself last night
when our goodbye went from normal to romantic and ridiculous.
I asked myself what I was doing but somehow it didn’t matter –
your lips, your hands, your back were all mine and I wanted them.
Intoxicated, delirious, things that shouldn’t ever go
with kissing
and touching
but they did and now, in my regret,
I can look at them clearly [for the most part] and realize that while amusing,
it was a bad idea.
I was shaking from the cold, little shivers every now and then
under your warm hands.
You had snuck one of them under my shirt earlier as we walked,
“your body is warm, ” you said.
I did the same, squeezing your side and leaning into you.
Happy lovers?
Happy drunks. Horny drunks. Or maybe just drunk.
Either way, you said to me: “this doesn’t mean anything.”
I know it’s true and that it didn’t…that’s not the problem.
The problem is that I thought about you all week and
wanted you,
wow, I wanted you.
Just to see you again and I did and now look,
random kisses and liquor-and-hookah-induced-cuddling
are all that I have.
Still friends, eh?
I want it again.
Last night.
But that was different.
There was liquor.
And tobacco.
Therefore: it won’t happen again.
We apologized and I shook my head at myself and I do regret it –
but also I want it to happen again.
[Who is this person writing? ]
Shaking from the cold and from your touch, pulling you closer and
pushing you away – lips and tongues and everything all together…
what a delicious mistake.