by Brian Boyce

Have a tryst with me young lass
by the fire hydrant on our street
and I will bring my wrench
so we can boil the water with our love
and soak the grass we stand on
to combine our feet one root
so it can grow around the wall of china
and our boughs will wrap around
the tropics and we will grow
plums, berries, apples whatever we please
and our foliage will be of chocolate, our ears lilacs
and children and lovers will have a tire swing to
oscillate between the constellations
and Hark the Harold and Muhammad,
will make them sundaes.
We will watch us fade and slouch slowly
Until the nectar in our eyes dry
And our skin sinks into the pacific
Into a bed even the gods won't go.

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