is it the tinkle of 

bottle meeting giddiness 

or the clinking of my bones 

because i’m cold. is it 

the stories of drunken delicious biting in neon-litten nightclubs, sneaking 

past docile non-id’ers because 

christ, we were only ten six years ago. 

is it the pheromone of {im}maturity seeping from our foreheads as 

we grind to the bass notes of ‘young dumb and broke’ playing off speakers. 

is it mindlessness 

or conscious coming of age, God’s pick. 

in the moments between 

your first clink 


everything that follows, 

what are you waiting for?


Photography by: Efe Kurnaz on Unsplash