an empty bottle of barefoot wine
lies,
crucified,
in the middle of the sea of plush carpet
you watch her reach slender shaking fingers out
to the thick,
cheap
green glass
and the bottle spins
oh god,
does the bottle spin
to the saccharine nervous laughter of girls still barely children
and before you know it, the battered cork is facing you,
confronting
you.
thin pink lips let out whispers about how "is she gonna kiss a girl?
that's kind of
gross."
and suddenly you're meeting her hazy eyes
and then watching her lips,
wet
from thirty dollar lip gloss and wine stolen from target.
she licks them.
your palms are pressing into the plush beige
leaving stains
when you lift them
to let your fingertips hover around her waist
and then your eyes are closed and
your lips are pressed against hers,
hard.
before you could remember how she tastes,
you're both crouched back down on your
respective spots in the circle
and she laughs
and she says
"i can't believe i did that!

i'm so drunk!"