I promised you I would tell you where I was.

I forgot.

You were angry...or hurt...or both...and rightfully so.

I received your message, and immediately felt guilt.

Rushing home, that guilt pressing into my temporal lobe, pushing down into my chest and through my stomach...somehow, it found its way to my thighs, and from there became a sincere and submissive desire...a sort of desperate hope for forgiveness.

I had this instant need to offer myself up to you.  To wash my guilt away by offering you my flesh.

But when I arrived and saw the utter disappointment in your face, I knew I would be denied.

All I can am sorry.

This is not a time for a "This is just to say..." poem...mostly because, unlike Williams, I AM sorry...but have never been known for my good timing...

I was drinking
with my colleagues
after a long
day at work

when you were
trying to
contact me.

Forgive me,
I can be self-centered
but the bitch session
was needed.