Poetical-type Shite

I started writing poetry in third grade. Like so many things in my life, including my degree, my choice of writing poetry was predicated by my Olympic-level laziness. My teacher told us that we could either write a page-long short story or a 20-line poem.

Duh!

I think it was about Garfield.

My literary imagery hasn't exactly progressed miles since then, but here's something I've hacked out. Read it out loud, it feels better.

Salt

I can still taste the salt on your lips –
Sun-kissed blonde and sweet, sweet seventeen
Graduation week daquiris, sand surf
summer lovin’
tell me more
tell me Mooorrrree
Wave-tossed kisses
Under the Boardwalk
As the water licks our toes
You giggle.

I can still taste the salt on your lips –
Tangled clothes bare back sticking to the car seat
Elbows, knees and nothing fitting right
Ooooh, ow, no, yes, right theeerrrreeee
Shit, car’s coming
Can’t see to drive
Laughing, sweating, panting
growing up fast together
on an empty dirt road
Shirt on inside out walking in the front door
and Mama waiting in the kitchen

I can still taste the salt on your lips –
Feel your hair on the back of my hand
As the wind blows off the lake
You cling to me
One
last
time
And a single
Sweet
Salty
Tear
Runs down your face

Or mine.