Read in fifth wheel press’ effervescent issue.
My friend has spilled
their body glitter
all over the Potomac,
and it burns
like sun on water.
I can only gasp, or maybe
vomit—we’re 3 drinks in
and it’s afternoon.
Now someone’s laughing,
palming the place
between joy and disaster.
The orange juice
and vodka sparkling
up.
We’ve taken the Wharf
in small shorts and high boots,
our bodies demanding
you shield your eyes.
The glitter spreads into colonies,
swirls into the stinking abyss.
Oh my god, I say, you fucker,
and they know this means
I love you.
A sea bird cuts right through
the mess and comes out clean.
We are sweet, I think,
so sweet, and there’s
the sound of laughter,
and there’s someone
calling me home.