I’m not interested in the chemistry of kisses,
only the taste of you on a night broken
by the asphalt music of sirens and helicopters,
finished in a round of water meter hopscotch
in front of a stranger’s house with a fireplace
that makes your hair smell like a bonfire,
miles from any field worthy of such a burn.
I have to tell you,
I no longer have much of a stomach
for gut-burning nights.
I’ll never miss the grip
loosened by the pitch and yaw
of cocktailwinds; the friends
are always true and the ride
is, more often than other, hell-of-a.
My taste is turning for salt
and tomorrow, for the water
that touches two highways named “One,”
for the sand where I’ll write our story
next to a basket boat waiting for the tide
to lift both into a sea that cares
nothing about our chemistry
or that of our kisses,
water that only wants to carry us
we no longer float or breath,
our story sinks beneath the bellies
of bottom beasts we never met,
the basket boat fisherman alone remembers us.
Welcome to my new blog series, Sake Shots: Words in Progress, where I plan to share excerpts from works other than poetry and blog posts that are in some state of progress – writing, publishing, nudging me to the brink of sanity. The idea, in part, is to share what I’m working on and invite feedback, which I find drives me and helps me stay enthusiastic about projects, despite my often short attention span. Also, claiming to have something in the works will hopefully keep my feet to the fire, my pen to the paper, my fingers to the keys – you get the idea.
So, here we go.
Today’s Sake Shot is from a short fiction piece I’ve just submitted to my writers’ group for critique.
Hội An in 3D
And I like the looks of our hookah. It’s a regal machine with its golden ashtray tapering into the emerald stem and the royal blue water chamber at the bottom, ornate with floral patterns. The mouthpiece, emerald as well, is fashioned into billows and spheres that are as much about grip as aesthetics. The tin foil sealing the tobacco in the bowl at the top and the black-gray hose sprouting from the grommet on the side are utilitarian breaks from the hookah’s overall luster. Still, I can’t help but think the contraption is the most beautiful water bong I’ve ever seen.