Campfires

The vodka popped
and poured itself down our throats
so the night sped up like all the good ones do

and until I saw the lotus in your eyes
I was unsure of what would happen next

then some subtext brought us up the wooden stairway
with the copper mobile twisting in the loft above us

and the lotus in your eyes showed itself and
my 18 year old hands trembled to yours but
until I saw the lotus, I couldn't touch your hand

and the Amadeus vodka that had popped and poured, burrowed
itself into my amygdala and I saw
the lotus in your eyes and finally drew your lips to mine

and the feel of your skin was making my ears burn
and then the moment came where the lotus closed your eyes
and we kissed and Jessie ran up the stairs

interrupting in drunken faux pas, pushing herself in,
upset that you were not in good faith
she feeling some obtuse responsibility for you and for us

as if what she felt mattered in the least at this moment
and so that was another excuse

we opened the door to my bedroom and kept our eyes
on one another and now I'm not sure whether or not
but it seems perhaps my eyes had a lotus in them too

and from that night they've never left
a little flower blue or yellow from the cornice
of our minds, our eyes--

little green leaves burstings from the corner of our brains--

some campfires they start easy and
just don't burn down on their own.