Remember the year that grabbed us by our ankles
and pulled us down two months in? We both signed
a resignation letter to routine, spun a wheel that landed
on homebound. Ask me to a party where we lean into
each other and the moonlight from a balcony, and I will
tell you that sometimes the problem is that the person
you want to make love with is in a hotel room four exits
down, so you must dance until the forest notices you.
By which I mean, yes. By which I mean, if you open
the cabinets of my heart and find them full of empty
glasses, pour yourself and your glistening back in.
By Melissa Studdard & Kelli Russell Agodon