published in Volume 1, Issue 1 on January 15th, 1994
Love is shredded wheat. Filling, but it passes quickly. --Herb Verde Am I a melon? Will I be "good" only if your blows echo roundly inside? Why can't you just move your lips around my rind? I stare at my socks, say "Let's go," and we strip, shaving carrots becoming smoother, slicker, transfigured. But neither of us has screamed, "Stop! I'm dizzy. Please, let me off." We only say "Yes," like bread does, apples or milk. Will you love me though I'll no longer eat honey? Lick every smear of chocolate syrup? Will you kiss me? Imagine the inside of my lip sweet again? Will your tongue cool; again mistrustful, again? In the wild, do humans mate for life? Will you... No, your hands on my thigh are cold, wide and cold.