I order vodka and seltzer and check my coat.
I look up and meet a pair of eyes; he must know I’m lost. Dizzy.
Two saplings carved from marble—
dressed lightly, served immediately.
I can find the bar on my phone but I can’t find my friends.
He raises an eyebrow before touching my lips,
like fawns with a taste for fresh milk.
A Page of Wands dressed in fine silk.
I hear a song that I know playing on the speakers
spoken in tongues of amethyst and leather.
Sounds like the call of something that I don’t know.
He undoes a button on his shirt and mine and leads me.
Two wildflowers picked from a battlefield—
tied at the stem, ground to a powder.
Pass communion between mouths
through a neon curtain of magenta and video head cleaner.
Breathe in the heated, thick air we’re steeped in.
Two cups of wine distilled from the moon—
swirled a while, drunk all at once.
I trip on discarded clothes and inhibition.
I can stare at the ceiling to remember I’m human.
Reflected oddities flow with the pound.
He pulls me back into an otherworldly form.
Reflected bodies ripple in the pond.
Land on a planet of violet and eyeliner.
JAY WHITE (he/him) is a queer poet that lives, works, and writes in Washington, DC. Jay’s poetry has appeared in Beyond Words Magazine’s anthology Beyond Queer Words, Day Eight’s art magazine Bourgeon, and Block Party Magazine. His work often focuses on the dreamy, blurred boundaries between identity, family, and the natural world. Jay earned his BA in Communications from the University of Maryland and loves low-budget ghost hunting, iced coffee, and the month of December.
JAY PATRICK was born in Georgia, went to school in New York, and lives in California. In addition to painting and paper-making, he enjoys eating new kinds of food and all forms of nostalgia relating to his 90s childhood.