Lavender Liaisons

Drinks

Drinks...Where it all heads for hell. 

The first time we met,

I had a vodka cranberry and you some sort of draft.

It was during those hot La Brea nights.

It was the dead of night, a tiny room still packed with women who needed to be free, fucked, 

and drunk.

I was the latter, no doubt.

Noises of lust, madness, and punk were getting obnoxious to me.

I did not even look up as you sauntered over to me.

Once I did sneak a peek, I never wanted to forget that image of long blonde hair, those

 mischievous hazel eyes, and the tattoos that graced along both your tanned arms;

I just couldn't look away. 

I couldn't forget.

The second time we met,

I had a jasmine tea and you a black coffee.

We sat beside the large white paned windows in that small little cafe just around the corner from

 my old place, displaying our little secret to all of L.A. behind the safety of our mugs.

I laid my arm on the table as we talked for hours and you placed your hand on mine.

The butterflies then were soon to raise from my stomach to spread through my whole body

 leaving their little kiss marks which left me covered in bitty bumps.

I leaned in closer and so did you.

This was the second image of you that I never wanted to forget, tantalizing my senses with every

 brush mark upon my arm you bestowed, every smile you gifted to me, and those passionate 

hazel eyes that would get singled out each time you raised the porcelain to your lips; I just could

 not bring myself to look away.

And I could not forget.

The third time we met,

I had a chardonnay and you did too.

Malibu at midnight never felt so inviting.

The waves crashed relentlessly as you just held me from behind while we sat on an old ratty rose

 colored bath towel drinking away anything we could except for the provocative sensations that

 we delighted one another with.

Swirls of smoke filtered through each exhale of mine before you grasped my chin and pulled me 

behind and into you.

With your swift motion you fell onto your back just staring up at me with those eyes that never 

failed to shake me in places that a prude such as myself should never be stimulated in.

I placed one hand on the towel beside your left ribs and the with the other I brushed the excess

 sand away from your forehead.

Just like that, the night turned into swollen lips, firm grasps, sea winds that brushed upon the 

bareness of bodies, and rejuvenation.

As the waves died down,

and we laid side by side, 

that was the third image of you that I never could forget.

How could I forget the curve of your breast being ever so lightly coated with sand, the scarlet

 scratch and bite marks that were slowly fading from your body, and the wild tangle of blonde

 windswept hair that laid carefully across your heated skin.

Damn, could I not forget.

The 720th time we met,

I had a red wine and you a whiskey on the rocks.

Fierce whispers, poisoning glares, and a wintry silence suffocated me as we sat at the dinner 

table with so called friends and family.

The view was glorious with a long mahogany table dressed in red, golden rimmed glasses, and

 sparkling china.

Our friends had this all strewn out to celebrate the joining together of us.

The onyx on my left hand I now saw as a curse, and felt this undying need to throw it in the

 marvelous mar of Malibu at midnight.

It all started with crude tones, accusations, and burning hazel eyes and instead of throwing it in 

Malibu at midnight I threw it at the next best thing, 

you.

That was an image I could not forget. Fierce eyes that I no longer recognized, red faced, and 

tightly placed blonde hair.

Damn, could I not forget.

The 784th time we met,

I had a vodka cranberry and you a Guinness.

It was the Greek place on 3rd where we were regrettably reunited.

You sat facing the entrance of the bar and our eyes met as I was walking to the ready table.

You sat there with the girl you chose over me, and were smiling at me as if it were some triumph that you were there with her and I appeared alone.

There it happened, the image I loved that I could not forget.

The image of your face growing into a face of many emotions. 

A face of annoyance, shock, and jealousy.

Damn, could I not forget that I was with someone new and she was a hell of a lot better than you,

at least that's what I thought,

and it killed you. 

I forsake that day as well because it killed me too,

despite what you may believe,

it killed me too.