That night, I wore black high heels. I carried an old plastic water bottle full of warm vodka, A stomach full of rustling butterfly wings, And maybe three dollars. That night, my hair was everywhere but Where it should’ve been, Tangling in the same warm wind that Caressed my bare arms. That night, I was definitely Drunk, and I don’t know if it was You and those words you let Slip from your lips after too many Cheap drinks and flirting Or if it was the way You held my hand that night, Rubbing your thumb against mine, Tracing fires in its wake. But that night, I couldn’t Get the words past my stumbling Lips and what fell out instead Was say it again and you laughed But you did and I don’t quite Remember what happened next That night But I know My feet haven’t come down Since That night.