04-15-2014, 07:01 AM
Ten years Old and Ten Years Gone
My mother always claimed that children
shouldn’t know as she cross-palmed her lip tic
at a party smelling whiskey sour
but children gather like balloons in bunches
and paint the grass calyptic-
blue and one was me and maybe
one was you, bare-shouldered
bubbling through, apocalyptic
your neck smells soft like birthday cake
your breath like melon-dew
as I closed-lung inhale the tryptic
and fly away
and fly away
with you.
My mother always claimed that children
shouldn’t know as she cross-palmed her lip tic
at a party smelling whiskey sour
but children gather like balloons in bunches
and paint the grass calyptic-
blue and one was me and maybe
one was you, bare-shouldered
bubbling through, apocalyptic
your neck smells soft like birthday cake
your breath like melon-dew
as I closed-lung inhale the tryptic
and fly away
and fly away
with you.