The Right Thing
Here comes trouble, riding on the silver flash
that glows around the widened iris.
Never mind that the rightness of feeling
as cold hands float together under yellow light
overwhelms like water in the lungs:
Trouble rides the silver in the eyes.
You can tell that unsupervision is a bad idea
from the pressure of a goodnight kiss,
high up on the cheek:
a fork-in-toaster, firework-holding bad idea.
A kiss, right by the orbit of the eye
from lips as soft as week-old berries.
On the way home, when you look
far up and around the knitted clouds
to see the whiteness of the moon
and see nothing but the black relief of i