I can hear the party still going 

starting in the kitchen,

spilling into the dining room 

and out onto the deck 

I hear the sound of fizzy champagne filling crystal glasses

"when the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie"

dean martin's voice booms throughout the house

as I lay on the living room couch

basking in heat from the wood-stove

to the tune of an over saturated

when I was thirteen 

and scared of real life

I gave out advice like candy

showering my friends with hope

and watched them grow 

like sunflowers 

out of a cold, dark earth