We were never going to grow old together
or tuck each other into forever’s linen quilt:
instead, we decided to glide the golden haze
into our twenty-somethings—loose in love.
You cleaned early ice off my car into
shattered chunks at your bootless feet
while I slept two cycles past a haloed alarm.
When the weekend came we’d drink & leave
the gay bars like spilt glitter on each other’s arms.
I wanted to grow with you. Up—
into the something we found in the clouds
on that May morning when you drew
me from the sheets to ride a patchwork balloon,
a woven basket the broken veil beneath our feet.
In a blanched field we landed—hard. Reaching
for the other, because what else was there?
Molly Davidson (she/her/hers) is a lesbian artist, writer, and river runner. She lives on the land of Arapahoe, Ute, and Cheyenne people, also known as Denver Colorado. Currently, she is an MFA student at Sarah Lawrence College. Previously her work has appeared in Rust & Moth, American Chordata, and Stain'd Magazine.