Published in Calliope, © February, 2015

Deletion

We sat across from each other,
as we drank our Irish whiskey,
handed the glass back and forth,
while we talked in the dim light
of the overflowed pub,

you stretched your arm
across the wooden table
as I sipped from the glass,
my pint of India pale,
I grasped your fingers,
lifted your hand, felt static shock

when my mouth tattooed
a lip shaped beer stain
on the back of your skin....

or we snapped photographs,
of sunflower gardens,
as we laughed together,
and I loved….

I want to delete you
from my computer,
but like some self-flagellating
emotional masochist…

I can't.

Nathan Tompkins