a city of Ben’s

our first date
we talk and talk and talk
have a drink
it’s a miracle
to feel understood
like this
and to be thirsty
with curiosity 
I sip your story
and a glass of wine
each detail, savoring

we talk and talk
and kiss
and talk and talk more
until I’m not sure 
what city I’m in
what day of the week it is
but with certainty 
I know
where I am is in your arms
when is this moment

and later,
when I go away
you have nothing left to say
but long after I leave
I stay drunk
listening to your touch
thinking of
your words
like hands on my body

when I find sobriety,
I tell myself
this is a city full of Ben’s
has beens, could have beens
will be’s
hopefully
there are others
like you
who can talk and talk
and talk
and drink
and tell stories
and kiss
tenderly
these streets
are flooded
with your type
which I’ve found
might be my type 

and it’s not about you
(it is)
it’s about being held
hostage
by hope

until then
you help me understand
what was removed 
from all my plans and plans and plans
and remind me
the comfort 
of a companion