I am too scared to snort
so I lick powder off the blade–
it numbs my mouth. I want to
trust you when you say
there will come no harm
my way but I’d rather ingest
rust. My lungs already cold
in gentle snowfall. And
I worry about the heart.
Why does it feel like
impending illness
when all I want
with you is to snort-
laugh through the night?

(originally published in Good Works Review, Winter 2020)