Taste that? The oil on a face, when a kiss starts unexpectedly,
and emotions are flung this-way-and-that, it all unravels,
we are both left holding our hands
over our mouths – how dare it. How dare it spring up
on a casual Wednesday, in the week before official Spring,
in the middle of the day how dare it sway us
with such ease, our weakness so potent it squeezes,
the gulls watching senseless, the barge sloshing,
brine in our nostrils snared. Come tomorrow
we might pretend, delete ourselves from two dimensions;
yet in the third hour of the night we’ll live on
in one another’s bedrooms,
shadows waxing into necks and hairlines and chests
that heave and peel like oranges, the inner layer
knitted in blue veins, shined with juices
eager to be released. We’ll scream like breaking trees. Aah.