We set off armed with bottles that clinked conspicuously inside purses after a few glances back into the mirror to wipe red lipstick from teeth,
blending our eyes into the night.
A bottle is pressed to my lips and the liquid burns down my throat,
and coals begin to stir in my stomach   
as I pass tables laden with signatures and soaked in beer.
Everything comes in flashes-
clapping and chanting that got more and more incoherent;
glass shatters hips sway and damp skin glows
as bass thunders through our bodies.

All this in a split second that echoes even now.

Hands and lips pull in all directions,
but I found yours.

We stumble into the dark and press our backs into the wet grass,
join slender fingers and trace constellations 
as sparks fly from our fingertips into the sky.
I remember thinking that this was enough.

Drunken secrets spilling from lips at a dawn heavy with dew,
we tell about different flames- 
skinned knees and hands rough from gripping bark,
how you wore hoodies in the sweltering heat
to hide your arms from the gym teacher,                   
my stepfathers hands locked around my throat,
and what we saw glowing in our eyes and clenched in our teeth
when we looked at our own reflection.     
                                                              
­Under the ancient sky,
we talk about the ten thousand fires
and the phoenix that rose
 from the ashes.