Let’s Flee

Your feet make me want to slow dance
               in socks     on our wood floors
your hands    a clam around my waist.

Your fingers make me want to fuck
              in broad day light:     a church lot      cracked
car windows peeking skin     to passing strangers.

Your mouth makes me want to rob a supermarket,
             kiss through stocking caps     grab cash
from each register       empty revolvers into the afternoon.

Your voice makes me want to hot wire a car,
             an El Camino     drive it high to a marina in Palm Beach
sail a stolen yacht stocked with food, booze,

water, weed, and sun block into international waters
            catch     cook      fish we find
on our way to a tropical isle    three miles wide. Your love

makes me want to eat kelp     when the cargo runs out
           sun ourselves until we’re native:     mermaid     merman-
the island’s only inhabitants.