Like the time we snuck into the open house
off Park Avenue, relishing in what we had never known:
open doors and floor to ceiling windows.
And when the blonde realtor questioned your accent,
humming a prayer against the backs of her teeth,
we smiled and scurried away,
our laughter drowning out the slap of our sneakers against the sidewalk.
High off decadence and deception,
your hand clasping mine,
crimson prayer strings rubbing my wrist in place of Cartier,
the skyline thawing against a coral sunset,
We swim. Joy.

K. Mehta is a poet and playwright whose work has been published in Roanoke Review, Apprentice Writer, and The New York Times. Her writing has also been honored by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, the Poetry Society of New York, and The Blank Theatre.