There’s only so much you can do
with a broken fishing rod and a dead sister,
you said to me over charred salmon.
It wasn't charred on purpose but the marinade
still tasted good. I think,
tonight, after smiling politely
I'll leave all the pleasantries behind
and kiss you on the wet mouth
with my wet mouth. How long, after all,
do I have inside this man’s body?
I’m a little drunk and have been reading
too much lately to realize
the foolery of lips after fish dinner.
Your blouse is tight around your pudgy middle,
an invitation to stick a finger in
up to the second knuckle. How you’d giggle.