"centre", Benzie Dio
before then i had never been kissed
on the ankle. there were no right
angles on the fourth floor: corridors
curved around pillars for privacy,
escalators around atriums for
vertigo. friendship bands
were things that wrapped around
wrists, and we had moved past that.
i couldn't watch her lips contour
around the bone; light travels
in straight lines. no pleated skirt
survives the mall floor, immodest
in its uniform splay. if we were older
we would've gone elsewhere
after school. youth can only afford
the intimacy of public body parts.
when she started on the small
of my knee, necked, protracted,
i was both acute and obtuse.
before then i had never had
starbucks; but no teen romance
survives a kopi tiam. before then
i had never held a ponytail, much
less a hand. after that we watched
the swensens scoop form two perfect
spheres of rocky road. the only lips
mine touched that day rested on
the indentation of the melt. cones
begin with a tongue, an apex, circle
wider around palm, mouth, gullet,
come to orbit with each other;
no vacuum cold survives the tangent
of young afternoon hearts.