I crack jokes like whips
but, you make me nervous.
So when you’re around,
my lips sputter like a dormant
volcano. Nothing comes out.
I don’t breathe fire. How much
sun does your smile carry, son?
The sky makes your eyes a resting
place. I want to be that stop-over.
I want to be as magnetic. I want to
bring the flames and the water. Maybe I’ll
bring the rain and watch you revel in it.
I’ll make you weep so hard that
your gums will be covered in grace.