Each line foams at the mouth.
The poem whoops and thumps
like it’s been DJ’ed right. A
churchbell rings in the distance
fourteen times. In a daze I must’ve
leaned a little into your boogie,
whispered into your ear how it’s
entirely too hot. No matter what I do
I step another foot toward the door,
I step another foot toward the door,
and another and another and another.
Each step foams at the mouth
with all its whumps and bumps
that make no sense but stir a
magical breeze around our
eardrums. No matter how
hot we get no matter how rabid
we bite I follow its sputtered
rhythm all the way it goes:
always back around again to you.
