so you might as well hear it, or plug up
your ears I guess. Read my lips or close tight
those wondering eyes. I’m holding this cup,
dull pewter like a gray rain cloud, to light
my memory of that night you bought it
at our college book store, told me I should
keep it forever. I still see your tits
bulging out that white sweater, Hollywood
starlet in my heart. No, I’m not drinking,
not even had a whiff. I’m desert dry,
and that’s my problem. Parched inside, thinking
how we would melt into one, muffled cries
as we came like wild deer on the front lawn,
then lay there softly whispering till dawn.
Roger Armbrust
January 29, 2011
