Tonight marks a new love story. I shake
her hand gently. Her voice is smart, inviting
and each time she looks over at me I put on
a nervous fucking smile and burn through her
calico frames, want to watch her eyes forever
She writes fiction, was born in Massachusetts
I know nothing of Massachusetts. Been to Boston
once, Salem once, but not enough to hold
any sort of conversation. I ask if she likes Pittsburgh
She does. She asks where I’m from, I tell her
then tell her I moved most recently from
New Mexico. She smiles. She was in Utah
earlier in the year – “same as you, just living.”
I love that. I want to say more, keep her talking
I don’t know how so I let her go, catch up
with friends. I want to buy her a drink. I want
to buy myself three. I want to nudge her knees
with mine. I want to hug her at her door beneath
a porch light with a promise, and the warm white noise
of moths buzzing, zapping in sync with batting lashes