Drunk On You


I have never been much of a drinker.

But we had a way of acting drunk without ever actually being it.

There was just something about you, I think.
Something that made my pupils dilate and my skin warm with beads of sweat that dotted my cheeks like staccato love notes.
Maybe it was your bluebird kisses and honey speckled skin, or the alchemy that made you forever young, my love.

In that Italian restaurant, you spun me round and round to that old swing song from the 1950’s. You knew I loved this particular song because it was the one that I had grown up watching my grandparents dance to – they were far more graceful than the two of us.

You had a way of getting me to be absolutely carefree. Running through the world with bare feet and spinning sundresses, catching butterflies and dragonflies with dream catchers. Hand in hand, our hips swayed, and we twisted and turned, and laughed. Oh, how we laughed. I will never forget the look on your face – your eyes had completely closed because your smile was just that big, sweets.

I lived for the surprises you brought to my life. We stayed in dimensions of technicolor, wearing crystals of rainbows and prisms of sapphire hues. You kept me on my feet, my toes tapping musically, sloppily sipping tap water out of mason jars, the days when the stars remained little, and I believed we were the center of the universe.

My darling, you are intoxicating.

I have never been much of a drinker. And as long as I have you, I doubt I ever will be.

– Samantha Prasad

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