One Last Time
These were the houses in which we partied. Where we drank and consummated what we had. New Rochelle Road fused into the Morgue Street I realized. The junkies were now beginning to populate the streets. They were as ubiquitous as autumn leaves. I recognized a few of them after Peter slowed to point them out to me. I watched them drink and snort and smoke when I was in high school.
They offered me snorts and pills. But every time they did, I pulled closer to you. I only managed to do a few puffs off a spliff, but even that was too much for me. Those were the days before the white lady. When ganja and cocaine were the worst that could happen. You drew lines off my breast after we made love, then you stayed up all night having conversations with yourself. I tried, but I couldn’t snort. It was just not for me. The only thing I could do outside of studying was give myself to you. That was my purpose. And I was at ease in that role.
You left, it was ten years ago. And still, my heart is in shards.