How are Adam and Eve, Lauren asks.
They’re great, hanging above my espresso machine.
We drink bubbles from vintage hollow stems –
Amaro accented by curls of lemon peel, air redolent with laughter
We finger small plates of crudo and charred octopus.
This is the last time I’ll eat a friend.
I wipe my hands on thick paper towels, a rose bud on each –
Grateful for the complimentary tampons, the radical hospitality.
Such perfectly pinched samosas and
Chocolate peanut butter mousse served in shot glasses.
I sink, wrist deep, into the dry sponge of a Goodnight Moon buttercream cake.
We hitch our skirts above our knees and pee on Duke campus in the evening just before a significant concert in the chapel.
I didn’t realize how shocking this was – the university, so conservative.
Oh, to micturate wherever I please like a man on the side of a road –
Marking our territory on these manicured grounds but really
Delighting in such divine release, our nitrogen collected by horizons below.