the wake-up part

Ky Klassen

under the influence of nothing but you and your carbonated capacity that electric shocks my mouth parts soaked in the stickiness of watermelon juice that oozes out mid- bite for fingerpainting purposes which I forgot to and just didn’t care to wash off after the sprinklers went off and the small-scale sprinkler rainbow held a mirror to me making me seemingly see through and the grass it watered made that trumpety sound when you blew on it if the firescape is to avoid the smoke in a theoretical fire it’s funny that you always smoke on it into my mouth second hand feels like less than nothing right now that I spend way too much of my invaluable time combed in your hair while the equator equivalence meant to be a sort of nexus connecting one side of the earth to the other is happening which I meant to meaningfully acknowledge in all its autumnal equinoxical fashion but was consumed by lost-track-of- time-kissing once fantasized through a twelve-year old’s puberty driven dreamscape but now without the wake-up part