I Wanna Get Drunk With You

There never seems to be any time for us. Plans change. Dates shift. Minutes stumble into hours, the hours trip into days, and days fall flailing into weeks and months. This drives me crazy. I want to quit responsibility and pop corks and spill laughter.

I wanna get drunk with you.

Cursing clocks and calendars profits neither of us. Patience dictates, like ketchup stuck in the bottle, we must wait for the good things to eventually come to those who wait. But the waiting stretches interminably into the future. I want the future to be now. Now.

Why can’t we find the time? Why does it run from us? Where does it go to hide? There are so many seconds, so many minutes, so many days, it seems it would be so easy to line them up in groups and enjoy them together. Together. I want to banish unfeeling clocks, do away with calendars, eradicate itineraries and abolish schedules.

I wanna get drunk with you.

I want to let the redness of you stain my smile. I’m thirsty for these moments. I wish to abandon sense and reason, to fly from sober solemn silences and get loud with you, to laugh with you with complete and reckless abandon.

How do we make up for all our missed minutes? How can we erase the inhibitions and limitations with liquid encouragement of wine and liquor and talk away the night and linger our way into the small hours of the morning?

I wanna get drunk with you.

I wanna be circular, giggle drunkenly with you and run candles down to pools of frozen time on the table between us. I wish for us to tell each other stories from our childhoods as we ease adult tensions. With great alcoholic enthusiasm, we’ll plan our next moves and our rushing, oncoming futures.

I wanna get drunk with you.

How can we make dinner together, taking turns with the knife, dividing vegetables, making rhythms on cutting boards, arranging sloppy plates of delicious food – meals so mouth-pleasingly good we can’t finish them – and instead, we return to our wine and our talk?

I wanna get drunk with you.

I want to crush cushions of a couch and with fumbling fingers undress you and you undress me – until we are naked and not shy. I wish for our wine-stained mouths to mash together as we half-clumsily muscle our way into sweet, sweaty sex, timed to the beat of our drunken hearts.

I wish to be sloppy in passion with you, until we collapse together. I want to finish what’s left in the bottle as we tell each other jokes and stories in the purple hours of dawn. I want to slip and slide our way into those early moments of morning, just before the sun becomes cruel to those who are still awake.

I wanna get drunk with you.

How can we pile together our impossible schedules so we can whisper secrets to each other with our heads resting on pillows stuffed with our dreams of the future? Our future.

I ask you. How can we get drunk together when the calendar holds us apart? I’ve grown to despise its weekly limitations. Now, I wish defiantly for us to blot out the clock like an eclipse blanketing the sun from our eyes. I need to spend minutes, days, months with you and let them pour out over our lifetimes like the generous flowing redness of uncorked bottles.

I wanna get drunk with you.