she makes eyes at me,

she makes eyes at me,
so the man ahead of me turns around
and here we are all three of us now,
fallen into the sound
that led us all together—

but here I am, falling
deeper than now
or then and them, I’m here
where there’s no “where” to the eye.

I pulled only the one
plastic bag out when
the cashier-lady had warned and doubled already;
it’s later we spit out the tastes we don’t need longer.

but I want to drink
the fresh pressed blueberries from the processed glass bottles,
tear away the labels so the glass is naked again
and my nectar tastes like the moment
your fingers crossed my lips;
you push the riper berries in my mouth,
and we pulled the horizons
to the heights of our laughter.

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