The first time my hand

wrapped around it

I was sixteen and on the roof

of a building, the night sky

glittering all around, the music

blaring from the apartment

below.  He pulled it out

like he was offering up

a prize, something he knew

I couldn’t refuse.  He groaned

with desire, but I was indifferent,

drunk on sloe gin and whatever else

it took to feel that slow easy buzz,

my life a blur, my lips and teeth

so numb and tingling my words

garbled –like speaking with a mouth

full of marbles. I looked out

at the city lights from the rooftop

and felt like I was on the edge

of something, dizzy

with power, a man’s life

pulsing in the palm of my hand.