March 14, Sunny ___________________________________ She has a mullet Older than the other Dark haired, heavily attired Partner, or girlfriend rather? No sleek, womanly forms Nor painted fingers walking On pointy stilts in tight skirts They are not sexy, not The head-turning type There they are Locked in each other’s arms Hands over nape On the sunny street corner Where buses converge First, they touched lips Saying goodbye Then it turned into a French Kiss: savoring deep Into each other’s flavors Writhing with appetite Invisible squirming Downright obsessive Obliviously . . . . A poem is often “incidental” Like witnessing the kiss Behind the wheel On a sunny street corner Between the two women Like twisting silken scarves into a fancy knot What is a kiss? What is a poem, in this matter? Remember the joke? “What does a human need a tongue for?” Anyway, one thing is for sure That I am happy to be living In the world of love + z.z.