Coerced

Just kids playing with their hands

Cover your eyes and count to ten. 

The others will find you, here --

peeking through their fingers,

splinters between branches cold in the night --

you not knowing how to say

with your lips without talking --

her.

Cover your eyes and count to ten. 

No one look, the gravy cup shot glass takes you,

you move with the grace of almost, 

with the skinny shy beat of inebriation, hesitant. 

They are still waiting, children

preying on your decision:

which tender cheek. 

Meaningless, not quite drunkenly driven

they cover their eyes, you count to ten, 
you find her and press, kiss,

wisps of hair obstructing. 

Moment quick and quiet, unannounced.
Soft rosy liquor-scented breaths. 

Afterwards, the lions creep, smiling; 

she, too, reaches for her drink; 
secrets spill from glasses and yet
the world does not move an inch,
the kiss melting ice floating in your glass.