love, shit and lemons

The static of plastic-wrap around the mouth
and nose belies cheap-assed love, but
well-groomed nails say it is not so.

Electric tendrils grip the moment; a squid
of hopelessness wrenching free the sour
and swallowing it down before releasing

black ink into the soft saline of unspoken
words. jot them in the water -- free them
and watch as they swirl and drift down and

away like an ache of whale songs written
by dead angels. When the guano of that
magnificent pod slithers out of the blue

rectum, it is without odor. a feast for those
small few who live in darkness beneath notice.

This rubbing of the sheath protecting air
from deep breaths, and lungs from deep
life -- this is the sweet citrus of silent lust.

What was once an ocean full
resides empty and blue beside

What was twice the see of holy
dies like boney fish in lemonade:
basking in sweet suffocation.