Two Blue Junes


spitting jewels from our cheeks
polishing residual scars & making out like bandits
collecting afterbirth for the aftermath

to be comfortable in summer
is to drive it like we stole it, 85 &
we are two blue junes, legs tethered to string

eyeing back roads through the bird shit
pulling chrome from our pockets & sky rocketing into orbit
admitting kisses, lust, hands on thighs, on curves, on wheels.

stillwater baby, dust on windshield, two movements, hesitation, me:
we're just trying to make it till morning
through the visions & accuracy of night.

slicing through the outskirts
reading eyelashes & fingertips, prose of the road
searching for answers, clues, bits of honeysuckle with no  home to go to.

one indication of righteousness in all this:
flat palms in dirt, against back, behind head, nectar on bone, a lick
nothing else, this moment, living in it, believing, breathing

coming into a galaxy, a gaze, a girl, her world
coming into her frenzy, holding it, thighs
spitting regret from our cheeks


and never ever looking back.