To Kiss A Poet
Years after we lunch, I’ll write a poem
about the spark in your eye when the omelet,
heavy with thyme,
touched your tongue, the hang of a single drop
of wine, leggy,
weighted, waiting to
fall from your lip.
Walk with me, the rhythm of your gait
swings into shadow
until your hips
and mine find a metered dance,
Lean in, hear our beats,
syncopated, twitterpated, rhymed.
Juniper and smoke on your skin,
whiskey fingers and leather:
This kissing booth is a bank,
I’ve a ring full of keys
and boxes to open.
Na/GloPoWriMo Day Twenty-Eight: write a poem about poetry.