The Duet

You,

sandalwood.

Black Porter with lime-

pockets overflowing with seafoam salt-water taffy.

I was just trying to pull a quickie out of a cuddle.
 

Remember?
 

That bus bum who couldn’t close his mouth-

His silky spider-webbing drool reminded you how stalactites make magnificent rain gutters.
 

You were a dung beetle in a previous life.
 

The Soapbox with a chewed charcoal beard howled how we’re all damned to hell.

You sassed in a heavy, devastating tone:

                “Hail Satan, abort everyone”

The loudest person usually has the least to say.
 

I asked you to use your outside voice.

I couldn’t hear over the air guitar warbling into the Ficus;
 

My Dad’s only advice was to “keep it between the rhubarb.”
 

Your Oma told me she fucked Hemingway after winning a bet - sharks can’t get cancer.
 

You kissed me when I said I only like limes that taste like tequila.

How much was that flight to Heaven?

I hate the stairs.
 

When you were little you tied scarves around your back belt loop.

You galloped, neighed,

only answered to Shadow.

You are the ugliest horse I have ever seen.