Tastes like I thought she might
Blonde First Love love
Between fractures in my fingernails,
Saved for later like mouth cavity moist taffies, pink or blue. Avoid consuming after bedtime.
Section 6 table 9 we’re center stage
Staring our sex into the celibacy of straights
With their some-kind-of
Can I write the next act like some-kind-of
Scaling sticky floor like curious child
Breaking fault lines into the table top
Arched back pressing our seal, our blood pact,
(“don’t tell anyone we will live forever”)
into ancient diner gum, pink and blue.
Crown of my head praying to
“Kate + Mike = 4ever”.
You opened yourself you just might taste like
Strawberry blonde milkshake
Extra whipped cream
Each and every one of my dreams
Living inside just a shaky sharpie heart on the bottom of diner booth table