February 2012
salt on a slug
sticky from a sweaty man
in the backseat of a car,
I crawl from under a rock
into the grocery store
with my nipples obvious
in my strappy tee shirt and
legs bare in frayed blue jean shorts.
overripe cantaloupe smell
seeps from florescent lights and
groaning refrigerators.
a heap of green bananas
on the tired linoleum
waits for its appointed time.
a stock boy grins at me...
You Haunt Me
fridayam:
You haunt me even when you’re
not there as I can’t wash
while the wonderful
smells of you linger on my
fingers, while there might still be a
ghost of our coupling somewhere on my
body, somewhere in my
senses.
