god why did i ask for bourbon it’s just non-Irish whiskey,

it smells like Eric it tastes like Eric

like Eric on nights when he’d call me fiery,

like his precious Jameson                    but i wasn’t that strong, maybe too sweet

when he’d “accidentally” drink the whole bottle in an hour and a half and if i hadn’t been taking more swigs than i wanted to, well

we all wonder how he never gets hangovers OR alcohol poisoning

[but neither did i, we were always in bed before two and that may be our secret]

he would throw chairs       and hit people                 who eventually became me

in play sword fights only, he told me to punch him in the face as hard as i could

because he felt guilty

he said he was testing me

it was a trick question

he always liked to tout that he never seemed drunk

but when he was drunk the unhappiness crept in through the poorly caulked doors and my spine straightened and even when i’d never been more hammered in my life

           my spine straightened when i got a whiff of it, love conquers intoxication

when he was falling over, he would slur indignantly

“i’m going to bed”

the falling over was the only clue, he was still sharp and charming and i never liked it because he would

stumble to bed

and be barely conscious before i had gotten all my clothes off

in the middle of the bed            wouldn’t let me crawl over him to get to my side

he might sloppily get his arms around me but no matter how drunk i am i still have to roll over     once      twice     thrice                     at least

i’d try pinning them to me but then i’d do it again

           and they’d lose their plasticity

                                  The first time I saw him do this

                   less than three days after he had asked me to come over

                  he could barely stand and I had to help him down the stairs.

He wouldn’t stop telling me he loved me until he fell asleep.

He was probably talking about the Jameson.