Sure, I’m going to miss the bayou
for awhile and the redneck foreplay
of my favorite bouncer’s double-tap,
moving a little lady’s Bowie knife
as she slides all the way over
to the sweaty middle, and kisses
that taste like stale beignets and Jim Beam.
But I think those swamps will miss me, too,
especially deep inside where it’s quiet,
and the secret ways we kept each other fed.
Off the Coast - Summer 2013