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while your foot is in the door
Folder:
Bad poetry if your legs were always wrapped in rainbow socks
around my bulging stomach trying to become a grasping arm
than how would I feel comfort from the luke-warmth of your skin
which on some days rises after the shower in tiny dots
until you're almost like rubbing a guajava
whose taste I've never known
your skin leaks two brown eyeballs
two black holes in beer bottles
I've often wondered what your favorite beer is
I think it's Duuel, which is a very expensive Belgian brand
because it's how you referred to your marijuana leaves
I thought then they called it 'weed' because it looked like
shit you'd pull out of a garden the moment you saw it
eating all the brightly colored things that we sometimes notice
did you ever think
while you handcuffed to that bed in Orlando
about how hard it must have been for you skin to live
or the way it terminated in odd places
your fingertips or the tip of your penis
whose taste I still recall at stages of my life in dreams but cannot describe
because of dignity
I sometimes even think that swelling in your kidney
might even have been your heart threatening to fall into me
the next time
Knowing that the guajava, or the "common guava" is also sometimes referred to
as the apple guava
I think they might taste something like your lower lip
after you had been smoking
which was like a Washington apple
that had been smoking
which is almost bitter. I prefer golden apples that melt between my teeth
I would eat them every day if they were grown here
properly, which they are not
but when I passed the Washington apples today
to see if my yellow preference had improved
I saw a boy take a guajava into the cart for his mother across the aisle
and I knew what it must have felt like in his hands
before it was out of them.
