Pizza crust curbs and falling
in love with a reptile.

Let's walk one-way to the end of no street-
Take me-- cold canvas shoes
and reptile feet--
where we warm like coffee mug hands--
where we fold like yellow sucralose packets-- 
where we can duel in check-mates on stale
pizza crust curbs.
Did you think I was a statue or did you
know I was a snake?
We're kissing over chess before the light
turns green and my veins course yellow-car--
We ramble arthritic finger bones--
the loose teeth stones-- of the alleys
where shop windows gawk wide-eyed and 
we watch ourselves ordering lemon tea
and talking about silver tea kettles
and talking about purple cabbage and talking
about where we'll be next Tuesday and
where we would drive a car if we had one
and where or if the street would ever decide to end.
I tell you what I would make of a back seat and a yellow-light.
I tell you where I would keep my wet socks
after the walk--
We watched them dry on the warm coffee mugs
and the radiator keeps talking to itself 
about the ends of streets.
I fell in love with the way you walk 
everywhere like the unraveling of a ball of
yarn-- I fell in love with coffee mug
hands and I tell everyone I love them too
soon because I'm cold blooded and lemon tea flooded
Oh! I live in coffee mug and by crawling
inside your left mitten where I count that
I have three toes and a snake neck. I wish
I wasn't born toad-skinned and four-fingered
and there's pizza crust curb people who will
never see me for anything but oval eyes 
and goose bump gilded shoulders-- I walk on four
legs and I walk on the loose teeth of alley ways.
We play chess and you always win-- I'm waiting for
wet socks and I'm impatient-- and I'm driving
a car to the end of no street to park and look
at evergreens that somehow grew in the city
where we wait for a train to pick us
up like toads or coffee mugs. The street lights
are always yellow. I'm trying to warn you about
loving reptiles-- I'm trying to warn you
about catching colds and toads and girl-bodies
with goose bump shoulders-- I'll give back your
left mitten someday when I'm warm.
And we can drink from either side of the same 
coffee mug. It'll be foggy and 
the street still won't end but
we'll park there by the yellow light--
talk about silver cabbage.
Talk about lemon tea kettles.
Talk about love like unfurled yarn.