I remember when you walked in
the place, the lights were splashing the tables,
the clack and the grunts, the boys with fuck on their lips
when they saw you. The light pouring through
was unnatural, too bright, and you
stood in the doorway, short skirt and frizzed hair,
scared and fiddling with your purse. The boys with veiny fidgity
hands, hair shrouding their eyes, pretended
not to notice, but the vinegar smell of their heat was primal.
Marry me, I said, and you smiled.