That Night

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.