IS AN OFFERING OF SORTS.

OUT OF SEASON. OUT OF STEP.

IN ALL HONESTY, NOT IN JEST,

I PROMISE YOU THE SUN HAS

NOT SET ON MY CHERRY RED.

WHY THEN CARRY THAT CHERRY RED

THAT BRINGS ONLY STORIES

OF BUBBLES ON BEACHES?

OF BLADES OF GREEN DANCING?

OF THONGS AND HALF-EATEN PLUMS?

ALWAYS SOME NIGHT IN MID-OCTOBER.

BECAUSE ONCE, AN ANGEL GREETED ME

CHERRY RED LIPS AND ALL

PLEATED IN STEEL ONE NIGHT.

SHE LEANED IN CLOSE AND WHISPERED

WITH AMARETTO ON HER BREATH

“I HOPE I FORGET, OF YOU,

THE CHIP ON MY SHOULDER.”

SWEETNESS, UNTASTED,

I WAITED, MY CRAVING.