Anticipating Coldness

Anticipating coldness, my esophagus awash
in the icy sting that freezes my fears;
I grasped the enticing brick-red bottle
and popped the cap that fell on the countertop
in a monotonal metal jingle;
you were preparing a meal, your hands caked
in salmon and crackers and eggs,
as you grabbed the bottle and tongued the lip,
sucking a sip as you gently lined
the cold orifice of glass with your hot flesh;
I sipped too, and the brew volcanically spewed
a head of foam like the bottle was cumming;
and the cold anticipation subsided, and we laughed,
surprised by the heat, rising

c. 2001, 2008 Evan Gilling


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