Juicyfruit
10.17.06

It came as nothing less than
the shock of a three layer cake slipping
slowly.

Somewhere in this metalloid heat
of an uncensored moment, while
our stray components fused-
mandible cradling the reticent clavicle-
your lips showed my eyelids yellow.

Not some faded fifties cabinet saffron, or
weakly rusting Kool-Aid, no. It was
my first balloon, ribbonning high, higher, highest, or
that curdled bisque you knew
was sour as your father’s smile, but
ate it anyway.

Your mouth twanged Juicyfruit
the way a country boy’s banjo sigh
still rumbles through city sidewalk cracks.