it’s Passover and my boyfriend sneaks wine
from a Gatorade bottle in a neighbor’s dorm,
gets a pack of vanilla scented candles on loan
and a Bic lighter from a friend who uses it
to smoke their **** behind campus on weekends,
and we light a pair on a rain soaked bench where
the wind keeps blowing them out and the lighter
burns my fingers as I cup them around the flame.
it’s Passover and I sit in the campus café, listening
to two girls on guitars crooning into the mikes
“If you’ll stay with me, then I’ll make it worth
your time,” while my iced coffee melts and
the spotlights turn their hair red and blue.
outside the April rain drizzles down and I
wonder how old I was the last time I went to
Confession as I smell the wine on my boyfriend’s
breath while tasting the coffee souring on mine,
and I think- are these are the best days of our lives,
then, Passover on a rainy Monday night while
guitars hum and our reflections in the windows
flicker and warp, faint like candle light.