Mardi Gras taught us
the easiest way to
collect beads. Aligned,
we decided keep our shirts on,
who needs their colored plastic
around our necks?
We thought
if only we could get them
to lean in close enough
they would fall into the
gravity of us.
But pen callus fingers, rope
climbing dexterity and easy
smiles never pulled them in.
Jokes of turgor pressure stiffness
or xylem and phloem
rising up stems, sinking
to the square root of seventy
two really gets you nowhere.
But today, I sway, easy,
touch light against you
as the bus slows or
as the train jars to a stop
I feel you harden at my hip
press lips together a simple
gaze can string you
scalp to ankle.
I pink
and coo
you pretend
to ask directions.
I flutter, lean
too far into “Yes,
I will wear your beads.”
