Tuesday, April 08, 2008


It isn't always
a tornado that tears
down the walls of the house.
We once lay interlocked
like links in
a fence around
the potato patch of love.
Your lips nudged my ear
with the words of Neruda
in the original Espa├▒ol,
every palabra coloring
your tongue like
a twist of licorice.
I fed you lines of Lorca
like fettucine al dente,
my voice warm and saucy.
We shared Shakespeare's phrases
like fries from McDonald's,
no ketchup needed.
And I guess what is woven
through all of this
like a blue strand of straw
is that we could've
kept feeding each other forever.
But nothing freezes my teeth
like cold peanut butter
and you just couldn't stop
putting the jar back
into the refrigerator.
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