by Gregory Sherl
Never have I ever walked into a room feeling brave. I drink flower water and bloom the sun. Dehydration sets in, which brings night, which brings frogs, which hop towards the lights above apartment doors. If Hell exists, I don’t want to know God. Never have I ever not missed K. In every poem I have yet to write I am hoping she shows up with a glass of flower water, two hearts saying mush mush mush. It’s too hot to see our breath but we’re still alive, so we know it’s there. My lemonade stand is open even in winter. Sugar teeth I tell her. Come home and spoil me. Sometimes a song makes me want to surf and I’m like Stop that right this instant. Atlantis sank and that’s weird. Venice is sinking but I’m too worried about my receding gums to care. The levees broke, people were like Help us, help us! Days and days and then some help. Never have I ever been rich. I am scared of needles shaped as needles. I am scared of needles shaped as anything that turns into a needle. When did blood get a bad wrap? It is why I am touching K on a nightly and a morning and sometimes a mid-morning basis. Lately I have been thinking about sitting under a linden tree. Lately I have been thinking about the age of trees and the age of romance and the strength of K’s thighs wrapped around mine when there is nothing keeping us apart but our own sweat. Lately I have understood how they all mean the same thing.
Last updated October 17, 2022