We are mapping our way back to the group.
Clear night, this girl is a friend of a friend.
We find the new club in downtown St. Pete,
this year’s new hot spot where our group dances
shapelessly with substances. This girl is
looking for a lover. She grabs my hand, says,
“look for men.” Six silver rings in strobe lights.
Weaving to house music. When she turns her
pupils dilate the room. Silhouettes reflect
in brown irises. I look for the men in
her mirror but I only see myself.
The certainty of her kissing me hours
later. The hunger of “men,” she says,
but her rings lay on my surfaces.