I want to lick the letters off page 3.
To taste them as my own, just to feel
Thin lines with thick words slide across the tongue,
coat the throat for one satisfying swallow, ex-

-hale. a pause. A toast!

Clinking empty glasses, we sip white space:






Here’s another one, a little more out of place:







Two toasts to respect your old lover’s slow, slow,
pace.

Stop to sit, to smell, to sink in his stale breath
as he recites old poems an old lover penned,
sober ink slurred drunk slurred silly

something about old ”i knews” nibbling similes (see page 3)—



I thought those were too chewy.