A bottle turns feverishly on its side
a compass searching north, east, west, yes
pointedly at a predestined angel
of crackled lips and sweaty pits
A tender moment of locked eyes searching
the other’s approval and first move
for the fated instant~excerpt from the poem
"Spin The Bottle,"
The Tuxedo Archives: Vol. 2007
, Article 2.
Available at: http://scholar.dominican.edu/tuxedolit/vol2007/iss2/2