Truth or

It was summer the night
the conversation dried up
and we set the glass bottle spinning
Mosquitoes grouped ‘round
the candles we’d lit, and
made drowsy by silence and
the repetitive chink of our drinks
we watched the glass stop after slowing.

Truth, you inquired, truth or
Rigid with shock, I sat paralyzed by your chair.

Over drinks, the need to be small
had wound itself ‘round my wrist
It began like so: my heavy head found your chest,
slow sleepy arms twined your legs
and I nuzzled your waist like a horse;
of course, this means that you felt
the blow that it dealt to have the
glass point its sharp finger at me.

Truth, you insisted, truth or
And with uncanny sureness your hands found my hair.

The night had been long, and a
bright nightly swarm of bugs now
dotted the tables. You gently pinched at their
wings while you phrased your question
(playfully ending with a descending inflection)
while trapped, I took refuge in
the warmth of your palms
as I helplessly readied to answer.

Truth, you demanded, truth or
Dare