Behind glass walls,
the host slices limes.
I’d follow L.A. boys anywhere.
One kneels poolside
with a tray of Jell-O shots,
his shoulders peeling.
Desert palms echo in Ray-Bans.
Another guy fidgets with the knot
in my swimsuit.
Without indoors or outdoors,
I can invite everything in.
By the searing metal ladder,
memory is too hot
to climb out of.
My husband watches from a strip
of artificial grass.
In the desert
you have big afternoons,
not big nights.