Ghazal w/ Tequila
By Nicole Callihan & Zoë Ryder White
It’s past noon, but not yet five: too soon for tequila?
Cicadas and the dozing dog. Just one teaspoon of tequila.
A little nip on this sundrenched day while I wait
for love, for what I might become, for the moon. O tequila.
I could become lush to match the lush outside
each window. I’m not immune; pour me some tequila.
Lusher and lusher, lustrous. I could become a saint,
a garden, gardenia, mother, wh*re. I’m a loon for tequila.
The room develops a pulse. I’m smudged, delighted. And you!
Too bright to look at with my eyes open. I swoon into tequila.
It rivers through my veins, hangs a gone fishing sign on my mind.
My feet are a hundred nightcrawlers. My heart monsoons with tequila.
And where is my mouth, and where, my hand? The room
is smaller, louder, warmer. I deliquesce, cocooned here with tequila.
Will our thirst ever cease, Zoë? Come fall, will we be quenched?
Only time knows, I guess. For now, let’s commune with our tequila.