Not just another poem about unrequited desire

THE MARILYN IN YOU

The sun lays
like an orange lozenge
at the back of the ocean's throat,
as these two girls
huddle, snack and giggle
across from you
on a nearly empty bus,
as the driver wends
his large wheels
across this sandy island,
you too can imagine
what that almost woman
on the corner by the 7-11
in his tight dress,
lacefront blonde wig
and too large feet
hungers for;
not to be eyed
like the last fried wing
in the bottom
of the bucket,
but to be held
in the mouth
like a chocolate truffle
freed from
its tightly folded
foil.