Sweaty bodies spike volleyballs outside of the avocado. That’s when you strolled in with some sand in your toes. A few chance hellos & maybe a wave lost in the mist of a crowd. But that wasn’t it.

Nor the platinum locks & black triangle pointing down with no birthday drink,
Nor the lack of sushi in a rooftop bar where strange girls tell us how perfect we are,
Nor the climbing onto your lap when we make out in your car,
Nor the deep-throat choke that went too far.

It was fast & it was fun with ladles of pre-*** but not enough love. Maybe if your heart had the right gland, you’d drip something meaningful into my cup.

& when the pouring rain collapsed the windshield, I witnessed hometown glory trampled by equestrian gold. & your touch was cold. But your homes have such stylish throw pillows.

Now you get your pills for *******. & your smile is a jackknife. While I’m down the hall listening to a young man from Venezuela who ran through the jungles of Panama so he could sit in a rooftop bar or make out with a boy in a car & not fear for his life.