Speaking in captions, she drinks
nostalgia from a red rock 

glass. It tastes almost
sour—sweet kicked in 

the jaw with a steel
toed boot firmly encasing 

the foot of a man
she used to know. In biblical stories, 

the knowing
would be absolute. Once two 

bodies collide and become
affixed—nothing 

with two hands can pull 

apart the memory of their imprints. 

But outside official belief, she lays with grace
in a black striped shirt. Forgotten 

or not, she won’t get
drunk from a cocktail tonight.