A Minute Longer

If I could, I’d like a minute longer.  I know you have to go but it’s taken me all night to get here.  All fucking night to end up, shoes off, next to you on this couch.  Please, I might just need a few minutes longer yet. 

I’ve spent all night navigating this and, if I could, I’d like a minute longer to play this out.  It doesn’t usually take me this long but, as you might see, I’m distracted.  You have, at the very least, noticed this behind my eyes. 

I’m distracted by the hand you placed on my arm when you laughed.  It does work! So very distracted by your eyes, hair, and the curve of your hips.  I’m high and in my head.  You look over, check in, and we carry on again.  I’m spinning inside whist trying to play this out.  How the fuck does this play out?

I stand, casually, as casually as I can muster, and kick my shoes off.  Is she looking?  Toss my shirt onto the chair.  Casual.  Ever so casual.  Is she looking?  Slip out of my pants, placing them tidy, ever so tidy, on the chair.  Slid my panties down my hips, bend at the waist.  Is she looking now?

I slip into the water, I’m a strong swimmer but these waters are muddy.  I lean on the edge, something I never do.  Strong swimmers dunk and start, they don’t hang onto the edge.  But, tonight, I cling, thinking through the strokes, the breaths that I might need to take.  I can’t navigate this either.  I’m high and in my head.

The night is wrapping up.  I know it is, but I smoke joint after joint, diving further into my head, deeper into these muddied waters.  I’m feeling rushed watching you put your shoes on.  I want to tell you that I’m close, close to figuring it out.  But I need a minute. 

So, if I could, I’d like just a minute longer to explore why I’d like a minute longer with you.