*VIVA VOCE.

04.20.03 @ 12:10 am

toes freezing and chapped lips
fingers between pressing legs and hoodie all zipped
we sit staring eachother down on this little brown park table
the kind meant for little-girl-picnics and parents watching their kids at play
pitch black in the middle of a woodchip-grounded park
bodies pressed tightly to conserve heat and space
and we keep spinning the dirty old beer bottle on the table top surface
crossing our fingers and hoping it'll land on the one person we want
libidos raging and teeth chattering
we giggle with each peck on the lips to play off what we're really thinking
i lean in for the kiss or take the dive
gender has no vision here, it's just lust, who cares
round&round&round and eachtime i spin i can feel the germs from the dirty glass permeate through my fingertips but it's all for lust, who cares
it's the little-boy-blues when you don't get to chose
but these are the rules of spin the dirty beer bottle, sixth grade techno style.


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SN–— M