Howard Firkin
She tips her head back when we kiss: it’s Pez.
Dispensing sweetness through my mouth she says,
"I love the way you kiss; I love your lips."
My mouth is filled with sugar warmth; she slips
her honey tongue into my mouth; it’s nectar,
it’s blossom; it’s a sudden shaft of light,
a dizziness, a need to hold on tight;
it’s sea spray from the bow wave; it’s the sting
of salt on skin, a transitory thing,
a butterfly, a butterfly collector.

I hear the fizzing in my head: it’s Pez;
it’s ice cream soda in a short glass—easy,
take it slow! She kisses me and says,
your ’thank you’ sounds like someone saying ’please me’.