you drink me

in the mango light;

a 4:49pm smoothie of shadows —

warmed.

 

we are sitting on the edge of summer’s

tongue

it smells like sweat (heat)

but there remains a chill before

the sun tries to set;

catching on the branches/leaves/trees.

 

I offer to dink you

on my bike

but there is only sorrow and

magic, between us

so you refuse

and I kick (fuck it)

at concrete curbs and cut corners

all the way home.

 

the power goes out, later

so for a moment the night cannot see in

as I clean eternally dirty cups

 

before offering someone else a drink.