John Hughes Blues

The martyrous diamond

earrings transferred from

silky palm to silky palm.



Kissing across cake on a glass cloud.

Love at sixteen and virtuous sex.



No forced blow jobs.

No ripped or backwards panties.

No inebriated hot lakes.



Breath the temperature of icecream tulips

a pout like the folding of a velvet shirt.



No breath of eating young armadillos,

No bean caps on the teeth,

No sweaty upper lip.



There's a puddle of polka-dot

smelling up the floor

in the third stall.