Smoke Sesh

I remember the morning we met.

It wasn’t quite summer, but the spring

had lost its glamour; it was hot.

You wouldn't stop staring at me—

I kept swatting at the bees that danced

around the pastel-colored flower pot.

I tried to sneak glances at you.

Your eyes were like a magnet—

I was stuck like glue.

You passed the blunt.

Our fingers brushed.

I lingered there.

You smiled.

I blushed—

Inhale.

You drove over the next day in a rush—

that small town in rural North Carolina

didn’t have enough space for us.

We rolled over every inch of asphalt

in Elizabeth city.

I remember you said

you’ve never felt this way before.

I still wanted you to convince me.

I rolled up in the passenger seat.

You tapped my leg to Teenagers by MCR.

I snuck glances your way.

You pretended not to notice.

I sparked the lighter—

Inhale.

You moved in after my mom was arrested.

I was spending too much time in my head—

Wilmington had more roads to explore,

but we spent more time in bed.

Endless succession of movie titles I can’t remember.

Bargaining back rubs for rom-coms.

The milk crate under the table overflowed

with full bottles of paint.

Half-painted canvases took up what little space we own.

I stood on my toes to kiss you today,

and my feet floated up to the clouds.

With my lips anchored to yours, I walked around

above the crowds.

You said to wake up, try to be lucid

I let out a puff of smoke—started to come down—

you said “April Fool’s, stupid.”

Exhale.