The address of a melon. Table
hopping water, never happy enough with
it's last meal, especially after five hours.

San Antonio freights full of fire pokers
ashamed of how much salt they put
on the skillet.
it's just jello, I say, you can never have
too much salt

I shudder at mystic growls. Howling
through eyes. Did I meet you there, or
was that just another imagining?

Straight back and waiting. Middle
finger thumping, my feet just tapping.
I sit in a two days wait, a moment
passing. In the sudden it peaks,
it is gone.