Pretending We Don’t Know Each Other Because You Say That’s Hot

 

Light when we feel light. Abundant when we’re not.
Seeking bars with the promise of beers
that don’t exist. Neon flickers in and out of extinction:
even better. Our high standard’s a low.
That’s definitely your hand in my coat pocket. I’m
six o’clock sharp in a long dress. No mirror in the bathroom
so I follow your eyes to orient. Nails on flesh raking routes
through streets and back alleys.
The bar sighs, perpetually returning from retirement;
existence sticky with slosh and cheer.
We’re lucky we’re young
and could go on forever.
Sickle-cell alcohol in our veins. Sucking one exhilarant finger
down my throat. Eventually our joints
go on strike. Give off that skin now.

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