liars

but my most precious memory of us -
we were sober and clear.
sleep deprivation, the only fog on a cool almost
spring, never ending, end of winter.

I am the driver.   I am always the driver.

and inside there is room to breathe.  you are talking to me about it all and I am driving.

I pull over - moved by what you are telling me.   Your house, or where you lived, barely in view, four houses away, I can't remember if there was snow.

You are so sad and we kiss and there has never been anything like kissing you.  
I never want to forget the shape of your mouth or the feeling of your lips sliding over mine.  
The wet embrace.

You told me then that you loved me

I'm sorry I lied.