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.

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