3/24/09
Afternoons and Sleepovers
"Black," I started.
"As pitch," you finished.
"White," said I.
"As snow," said you.
When you lost the bet
you had to use only idioms
for the rest of the day.
I giggled every time.
We played hopscotch
just to pass the time
and chased down the adventure
with a sniff of actual scotch.
We lay on my bed
dizzy and laughing and
I clutched the teddy bear
you had dressed in my shirt.
And when we were done,
we really had only just started.
Things exciting and majestic
began spinning out of context.
By the end of the night we were wasted
and your idioms took on
something of a ridiculous nature,
but I didn't notice, much.
Twirling, I cried.
"You catch more honey,"
you whispered, "on birds of a feather."
So I smiled, instead.
You kissed me goodnight,
said, "Apples eat doctors,"
and threw an orange
into my lap.
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