Somehow last night an ancient skunk stumbled
into my mouth, chose to die there, decayed
and dried flesh and fur coating my humbled
tongue and throat, stench dense enough to dismay
angels. Yet you, stalwart sentry of our
bed, slide your body to me, press your face
next to mine, mouth refusing to cower
as I warn, My breath’s a toxic disgrace.
Your lips pause, purse, then curve in smile. They part
to whisper, Mine too. We kiss, our sure tongues
rolling like young dolphins in sudden, tart
sea of saliva. Torsos follow, plunge
down deep, then lie still. We curl in wreathing,
mute embrace, listening to our breathing.
Roger Armbrust
November 17, 2008
