my fringed dress fanned as I spun and looked like a lion’s mane
especially from my aerial view
but then also, it looked like your hand around a bottle
as it’s softness hugged my body
and I think
whatever brewed inside boiled sweet and fiery
in your hands
and without them
people stare me down for hours on end, hopeful
but there’s not one bubble, not even a hiss
though I try and hate to keep them waiting
I know something’s broken
the heat won’t turn on
when it’s off
you
