Prose Poem

I don't think I actually know what a prose poem is, but it sounds like it should be something like the following. I like this piece, but I'm not sure what it's for or actually what it's about. Enjoy anyway.

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she will go home and abuse the keyboard with drunken confessions of love and apologies even though she is not drunk. what other excuse to remind him that she loves him even though he is miles away, what other way to say that she remembers the time he got drunk and called her at two in the morning and woke her up and didn’t have anything to say. her friend’s cigarette smoke makes her itchy and restless. she is flooded with a faint urge, a sudden and quiet desire. she thinks about being attacked outside the marquee here, beyond the patio heater and the pool of yellow shed light and she imagines how deeply her nails would sink into someone’s skin, how she would break his fingers and kick his shins and gouge his eyes out with her hands. waiting for something to happen. the light revolves on the ceiling in shades of primary. a lit cigarette tip. a stiletto heel. a small hole in the side of the white marquee that lets in the darkness. a flooding of the synapses, the distant sound of thousands of neurons firing within her own brain. outside, waves of hailstones pass the streetlamp like a black ocean cresting in the light. she shivers. the dj mumbles into his microphone. her best friend is kissing someone and nobody knows who he is. an empty bottle rolls toward her foot. someone standing on a table showers the room with dutch gold. it forms a tiny pool on her bare shoulder and glistens in the revolving light. blue yellow. blue yellow red. she could run out of the marquee with hailstones nicking her bare arms and taxis spitting at her feet and not stop until everything was different. a firework screeches outside, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal. they crowd toward the marquee entrance. she watches over their heads. it screams toward the sky. it is green. she will not pretend to be drunk tonight. instead she will say that all this is worth something, even if she does not know what it is worth, even if the one she loves is miles away. even if it seems that the only thing worth loving about him is that uncrossable distance.