the first time

We lay on our backs in the driveway,

a handle of vodka between us,

my fingers weaving through your hair.

I took your silence and

I wove it into mine.

I wondered if the stars were burning

but when I realized the sky was not on fire,

I sat up quickly and poured a shot

into my hand, half-expecting you

to lap it from my palm.

I extended my hand and

searched your eyes for questions,

but your tongue gave wavering replies.

I downed the vodka and

searched the stars for fires to start,

but the warmth was only in my thighs.