Blizzard Pre- Gaming on Steinway
Your daring digits make a play for my palm
my pulse pounds as your index finger probes my hand
through our scratchy gloves I feel your heat.
My gasp condenses in the frigid night
and floats over Steinway Street.
Friday evening, blizzard pre-gaming,
we find a hookah disco.
Your eyes seize mine over baba ganoush
our capacious gaze holds our whole story
[just because there’s ten thousand songs about it,
doesn’t mean it’s not true]
Later, you push me into a bus shelter
my back to the glass, my chest to your chest
you laughingly navigate my furry hood fluff
in search of my smile.
In the car, I lick Yuengling off your lips
as the first snow falls,
and I do it again, cause you ask.