Lyric—well
Lyric sort of shuffles along
gripping my hand
for dear life.
When we play back the footage
we look like two deeply uncoordinated chickens
on ice
not a single ounce of the chemistry we had
last weekend present.
Maybe we should try
some of those off-ice
hot chocolate shots?
I say, after our tenth time
trying to make it across the rink.
I’m starting to feel—
people are staring.
Just one more time!
Lyric barks, gripping the side of the rink.
Here—help me—
Lyric underestimates
how far away my hands are
as she pushes away from the siding
and promptly falls on her ass.
Shit-balls, this is hard!she yells
the look on her face
one of utter contempt and chaos
as she flops around
earmuffs askew
braids in her eyes.
Before I can stop myself
