When he laughs, he casts
his head back and lets
it flare out of him like lava.

Laughter spilled like milk,
frothy and sincere,
and he can't care
about the glorious mess left.

All punchlines are the best
but when it's slipped from my lips,
the corners of his kisser
curl into sharper hangers.

He calls me his wishbone
and I just whisper,
"please don't break me."