The Climb

The room is lit by a glowing TV screen and a single string of white Christmas lights
It is filled with the sound of plastic ping pong balls bouncing off of plastic cups
And sloppy conversations sliding out of slimey mouths
And anxiety
Most of us have already climbed into bed with someone in this room,
And the rest of us are waiting to make our ascent, to conquer--
Or to make our way back to one particular summit again
Familiar, but still worth the clammer
We open our arms wide; we are thankful
We are grateful and we are desperate for anyone, anything:
A hand on the small of our backs, a look, an assessment,
A whisper, a moment alone, a closed door
Secrets hang in the air heavy like tarps filled with rainwater over our heads
One secret drips down and splashes on top of my head
It should have felt painless, but the impact leaves me dizzy
The room is spinning. I run my fingers through my hair and
They are drenched with the promise that soon it will be your hair that I feel between them
A secret--so simple, so honest, so harmless; “he would, you know.
You could, you know
He did with me and he would with you, too, you know.”
I am anxious because I know
I am not the only one here curious
I am not the only one hungry, and
Hoping for a sign, any sign, that I should try tonight
I am not the only one anxious for love, for the chase,
For validation, for a bed other than my own,
For a body to be joined with mine if only for tonight,
If for no other reason than to ensure neither one of us feels lonely
Until tomorrow morning when the trek has left us sore and
Unsure of ourselves, of our bodies, of our hearts,
Of our strength, and of our willingness to climb even just one more time.