We would shake hands in public but embrace
in private the kitchen counters I’d pour myself

a purple punch. Slung ear ice. Not much music
from the grass but songbirds chatter refrigerator

hum. My speedometer reached a hundred barren
roads leading to summer rooms. Fingerprints

everywhere. We touched everything tortillas
knobs ladles. We even touched each other’s

faces, then inhaled.

(originally published in Ginosko Literary Journal, 2021)