At the party

A poem driven by a night on the town.

The wind shapes the stone long

after the hurricane has passed,

long after your kisses are passed

out of me in a flood of venom

and a poem that forms on the edge

of a page that I’m close to tearing

from my book

 

It’s a Friday and a party’s beating heart

holds steady, its heart monitor

a girl with red lips and a belly button ring,

and she holds my hand through the crowd

as if she’s leading me down the aisle

but we all know how this goes

 

she will vanish amidst the press of bodies

or amidst the linen of my dirty sheets,

someday, someday

I’ll pause when I write something similar to this,

when the girl beside me is as bright

as the constellation of Artemis flickering

like a light bulb in a night

as full of promise as we once were

 

It isn’t heartbreak that thickens the ink in my pen,

it is the notion that as far as we are

your fingers tug at a thread

still connected to my whole being,

and I am vibrating at a similar speed

to your molecules,

I am awed by you

and I haven’t even met you yet.