Epithalamion

It became the bluff
and the shallow stream both,

his hand extended, all
the empty bottles lit

beneath the string of lights
in the canopied parking lot.

Please, he begged in jest,
the most intimate gesture since

he wanted almost nothing. This
was not the hand

coming down like so many
loosened stones, I told

myself and let him
collapse, the hair on his face

against my neck, our shoes
dragging the broken block

of concrete as we swayed
among coupled guests

to the singular voice that said
something about love

and washed over everyone.