Swooping Bats, cicadas and half ass Jim Beam

I can see for miles up here

The roof top is warm.  Still radiating the heat of the day.  The humidity is thick causing beads of sweat to streak my Sephora-ed face. Eyeliner and foundation smudged and smeared.

I pour a shot. Fireball, just for you.  I tip it to the sky dark and peppered with starlight and gracefully diving bats.

They glide dangerously close and draw back.  I watch them in awe. Lost in the thoughts of you and your lips against my skin.

Discarding  the tiny glass I turn the bottle up.  Bottoms up I think and cringe at how very fresh your voice seems inside my head. 

I can feel the tears forming. Escaping now. It was only a matter of time.  This dam was barely standing.  Held up by toothpicks and twigs.  And im screaming now.  Drunk and alone. Begging.  God. The Goddess. Any fucking backwoods bayou deity that will hear me. Because I need you.  I need to feel you in my arms again.  I need to feel you breathing against my chest.  Your lips on my neck. I need you inside of me. Your soul colliding with mine in perfect unity. And your hair falling down upon my face as our bodies melt together. I need you.

But its me and this half assed Jim Beam and a half empty pack of smokes. On my back on this rooftop with swooping bats and cicadas singing in the distance.