Gosh, you were a fluttery thing,

your body synched in a tight black leather top,

your skin covered in so much sweat

it looked painted by Monet.

Have you had any water today? I asked.

No, you squealed, what’s that?

You better have some, Ms. Thing.

Okay, mom.

Promise me.

Okay.

Promise me!

Okay, okay.

I didn’t believe you

but you didn’t need me to.

You just wanted somebody to talk to.

So I asked about your outfit

and found out that you’d made it

in your little Bushwick room.

You were so proud

and asked me if I liked it.

Of course, Diva!

What else was there to say?

You swayed in the soft pink light and held a vodka to your heart.

This is my favorite part.

Of the song?

Noooo, of the night.

You smiled and closed your eyes,

leaving me to wonder what you meant.

We shuffled to the front

and a stall door opened up.

You turned to me abruptly:

You know why this party’s so good?

No, tell me.

The dance floor’s made of wood. It’s breathing through the night.

Another smile

and a swish

and baby you were gone,

leaving in a mist

of sugary, stale breath.

I looked for you later

under the buttresses of silken jellyfish

that plumed in greens above the haze,

but never saw you again.

Later, though, as I wrapped my arms

around Dan and Paul, I felt the wood floor moving

beneath us like some buoy in the sea.

I smiled and felt like light;

and like light,

I felt free.

Cody Gohl is a Brooklyn-based poet exploring queerness, family, intimacy, and the small, radiant moments that bind people together. His work blends narrative clarity with vivid imagery. He is currently developing his debut collection, January 2034.