“‘In a Pittsburgh Parking Lot, I Break Down,’” I begin and a shiver rips through me. I say, you look really good tonight like it’s currency, and in your neon pink heart, the tip’s not included so I try my luck: You burn the whole way down like vodka- laced Sprite, like a high school crush, your strawberry hair, glowing in autumn leaves’ crunch. You’d read me Mary Oliver as if you were silk- caressing my jaw over candlelight and pancakes in a rusty kitchen, our cheeks February-flushed magenta. You’re jealous when I thread myself tight into slick-lipped girls, as if I didn’t drunk-drag you into
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