D’Oro by Panos Panagiotopoulos

then,
we never danced in clubs together
because she was a pop child and I loved tequila
now,
I dance with her calves on my sides
and a mouth hooked on my bicep to leave a mark,
palms on cracked mirror panes and salsa vibrations,
sweet sweat and this skin that isn’t mine,
because she’s still pop and I’ve quit tequila,
and her long black curls creep between my lips when I try to say
‘where will you be for the rest of my life’

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