hey, remember that one night?

bloomington, Indiana
often, my mind stumbles into a particular winter night.
a joint funded home surrounded by side street labyrinths
nicholas and i enjoying a good friend's house party.
a first time for his confession:
what loving me meant.
both spilling bloody, mushy guts all over the table,
i have not forgotten since.

after writing this, i now know why.

- i cannot tell which seems to be burning more, the fire or my heart. -