Member-only story
The Meeting Place
A Poem
slow-dancing with you back in the day,
thought we’d never get out of town alive
because the haters called us losers every day
and we believed all the pain made corporeal
but we thought we had it all figured out,
how we’d make this little world ours
when we couldn’t even keep steady jobs
to fulfill every hope and dream we had
the wine ran like water in those days,
cheap to our tongues and just as lasting,
and we couldn’t get enough of each other,
live wires to the tug and pull of love
we drifted as travelers on the waters,
to and from and back again,
anything to make the noise stop
so we could hear ourselves think
we took each escape we could,
from the cloak and dagger
to the smoke and mirrors —
all those little distractions
yet here we are, years later,
standing under this old oak tree
where we made lukewarm promises
and exchanged messy rites of passion
