Saturday, August 1, 2015
I feel your saliva dripping onto my big toe
as you lean up against me and belch.
I rub your neck,
massage behind your ears
staring at the Ko'olau Mountains
breathing in the pink Plumeria blossoms
as we both listen to the caw, caw, caw,
of Petey the Peacock
perched on the neighbor's roof.
are special in our datebook.
shaving coconut palms with my chainsaw
trimming the Be-Still bushes,
training them into a hedge.
inspecting the heap
smelling the fallen coconuts
and then chasing the cooing doves
feasting on your forgotten dinner.
stuffing green bins with yard waste.
standing on the wall behind the fence
as the giant yellow truck
swallows their contents and burps,
farting around the bend.
you and me.
sniffing and alert.
smearing citronella leaves
on my arms, your butt, and our legs
shielding us from the mosquitos at dusk,
while relaxing at the fire pit,
listening to KCCN Hawaiian 105.9.
Both of us,
How do you say goodbye recall the fragile faith in the eyes of a starfish before tossed ashore by the careless surf? Or crack the ...