That was
the year she didn?t drink green tea,
or fluff her pillow into the jamb
between our shoulders every night.
Every night Ohio filled her up,
and pushed me like her summer
through the South and past
the Pickerington AFB
gate where we would cower,
my hipjoints throbbing, knuckles
grazing the blade between
her teeth.
She still sees me on weekends.
And after dusk I press her hands
flush against my chest as the
Pacific Ocean shivers
around our ankles, drawing
our toes deeper into the sand.
I?ve always wanted to feel
that glistening curve, those
wisps of avalanche. The sips of
tea I find myself in these days.
the year she didn?t drink green tea,
or fluff her pillow into the jamb
between our shoulders every night.
Every night Ohio filled her up,
and pushed me like her summer
through the South and past
the Pickerington AFB
gate where we would cower,
my hipjoints throbbing, knuckles
grazing the blade between
her teeth.
She still sees me on weekends.
And after dusk I press her hands
flush against my chest as the
Pacific Ocean shivers
around our ankles, drawing
our toes deeper into the sand.
I?ve always wanted to feel
that glistening curve, those
wisps of avalanche. The sips of
tea I find myself in these days.