whipped cream, caffeine, and drowning

we barely make it through the door

sopping wet.

the drops of liquid laughter, lip gloss, and longing puppy dog eyes

run down our strong arms, finger tips, shins and soft thighs,

perfect puddles gather where we stand.

this place used to cut off people's bits and pieces.

clean up their edges and snip them down to size,

but there were new owners in the nineties

and miserable monday mornings needed somewhere to find their drugs.

the liquid feelings are up to our ankles

and we take our place with the human domino's by the door.

does the caffeine peddler behind the bar hear us splashing?

does she think we sound different than the other lovers?

the floor seems grateful for such moisture again as he creaks under us, lapping at the soles of our shoes.

it tickles, but we were already giggling.

one by one they all fall down.

they get their fix and roll out the door.

the barmaid snaps us away and awake.

she beckons us towards her,

but only the girl i accompany

wades away through the waist deep run off

(the floor can only drink so much).

it's her turn to make the exchange.

she flattens the sacrifice of green and powerful white men in offering

and lets their worth less brothers fall into the jar.

the drawer dings shut, orders print,

and the rapid blur in the background throws the machine in gear.

we drift to the wall in waiting,

now neck deep in memories.

her hand a puzzle piece with mine, our fingers and stomachs in knots.

we hiccup bubbles and butterflies.

i am grateful to forget that i once was drowning.

in an instant we are called forth and spit out.

our ocean rushes to hydrate the lonely concrete and send the cars afloat.

we wash away,

sipping methyltheobromine, and talking loud.