That night, we snuck vodka in a yellow thermos,
feet tucked under, hands full of grass & weeds.
black hair, pink blossoms, wide eyes, liquor tongue.
We watched the moon land above the rows of houses,
It was never so close—
We hung upside down, legs touching, fingers
our voices quiet in each other’s mouths.
I shifted in my skin, felt a strange pulse
a surface we were unable to navigate.
In this, we understood what it meant to be charted,
toss of earth, our fault lines.
Royal Street, New Orleans