Archive for the ‘Formal Poetry’ Category

Round, large, high, I rest my cheek, my hand, my foot
on it even a bowl of chips when you slouch on the sofa.
Movie on cable, Princess Bride, the volume low,
we make up our own dialogue, trying to out-do
each other’s jokes. You play Inigo Montoya, I give
Fred Savage cancer, your laugh almost spills over
the bowl. A few chips land on your sweatshirt.
I eat them off, my tongue catching the ruffles.


Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: