lov

five o’clock shadow grad
students drink beer like 
water.

*tink* their glasses
together like—two girls
standing under the
prison-like archway
outside of the high school

one’s mask below her chin, 
the other’s hanging off of 
her fingers, up in a sign of 
peace as they tip their
heads together, leaning
into the phone camera’s
view. unaware that the
next day the people who
run their lives will
continue to be inadequate
and that archway will be
vacant.

three rosy heads, one
smaller and much more
malleable than the other
two lean together, the
clock ticking through the
night.

the midnight tides come in. 

twin fireflies flying down
the dark road, two tire
smiles dream of the home
they are not returning to
nor did they leave from.
home is rest. tiptoeing
across tile after a long
night of talking and
pondering over board 
game pieces. eyes half 
open, persevering through
a morning bagel, salt in the
air. Matching black plumes
of soft smoke crying out
for connection on either
end of an hours-long video
call—words intertwined
through miles of
mountains rivers farms
experience years.

leaning—once again
against the cold glass,
watching star city windows
on dark canvas creep
behind trees, shocks of
pink laughing in the front
seat, taking my lavender
drunk ass home. tipping
my heart into each teacup
chalice warm mug bottle
and tumbler I come across.