A Birthday Cake and A Vape Pen

My nights are spent with her

we’re high in these blue skies.

No pain, she offers herself as my drug,

without any hesitation I take heavy sips.

Her skin is sprinkled with glitter, it shines,

she tastes like flowered perfume.

Everything about her is subtle,

eyes melt naturally by her expressions.

Eyes on fire, they burn with love,

she’s trying to hurry to get inside.

She can feel something is planned,

she can’t be her typical late self.

For now though, the sun change is helping

giving her about an hour of extra time.

We’re all headed to her place, in turn,

I want her to be happy and shine tonight.

Standing in the dead center of her room,

it’s hard being in all her clutter,

it’s funny what we choose to ignore.

She smoothes the corners of my half smile,

her wet hands are perpetually filthy.

She makes sure I look the part,

she spits in her hands and then into

my hair using fingers as a comb.

I’m fine with her grooming techniques,

at least she cares what I wear and look like.

My one long-standing wish.

I’ve wished for her for years.

The hour is late and it’s secretly colder,

I can’t help but find her super pretty.

I know someday we’ll be together.

She asks if I can help, I accept her request

it’s Sunday and people want to get home.

She just needs a little practice,

standing on here her tiptoes

getting everyone gathered in one room.

We’re playing Piñata.

I turn to whisper words, she’s surprised

I remembered her birthday song.

I go into the ritual singing,

she closes my mouth shut.

When I insist I must, she turns,

and swings making the paper machete

explode all over the room.

The candy is mixed in with… Fuck it.

We crawl all over each other

the search for the tiny candies.

She sucks on her Vape pen, very delicately.

At first it’s all normal, until she requests

I take her pen. The others stop and watch.

This huge cloud of smoke engulfs,

I violently cough and spit my guts out.

Lungs and eyes burn, she swears

I’m being a sensitive baby, to stop it.

I hand back the contraption, the pen.

She takes her own deep inhale and stares

her celebration has clearly turned.

The main event, I bring in the cake

she balances the carving knife on the edge

she asks, “How big?”

With cake in hand I swore

I wouldn’t crush it on her, but after the pen

who could blame me if I wanted to

smash it in her hair and eye lashes.

I didn’t though, I simply celebrated politely.

I secretly held a grudge to smash it.

Come tomorrow though it’s a choice

me or the pen for real.