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.