Moisten

Lines go through my head.
Some I write down. Others I wait until they are sharpened.
I remember when you broke the speed of sound.

Table scraps do not make for good poetry. Especially when all you eat are vegetables.
I like restaurants that give you a wet nap when you’re done with your meal. Rib joints are the best because it’s like a crime scene.
I remember the last time we played strip poker and how innocent you looked when you lost your last stitch of clothing.

Lines go through my head.
Some I scribble down. Others I wait until they’re baked in direct sunlight.
I remember when we first hooked up and how much of an expert you were at self-moistening and self-deprecation. 

Charles Cicirella
12/28/14