Four Suburban Churros
fam-packed rusted volvo under patriot sun the kids; rubber banded jumping beans the wife drives like a thawing chihuahua
my eyes roll back; a slow cooked, wet steak wait to cut a deal with the bad breath of traffic
I'm rare right now, a nice taste
sure to be well-done by san diego,
and jerky by tijuana
My Bride
why touch the pen to paper
when the deep white
reminds me of you;
the quiet times
we compare the
rhythm of our bellies;
I slow mine down
to be more like you
drunken toes gather
under a silk pub;
drift into sweat
by whispered lies
my fingers rest in the pink bowl
just behind your ankle;
not a word, but we know
this is the devils playground
the hollow of our breath
dance between us;
the yawn of two giants
in love
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