you are octopus to me—
i grant you three wishes,
and they must be figurative.
you say, giant squid race
through the sky and hang
puffs of ink everywhere
so it rains on your tomatoes
after a week
of hot days
you say, this tentacle
covered with hungry
kisses
and we make love near a graveyard
even though the ground is wet.
you say, within me
is a vestigal shell
a reminder
that there are snails
in the distant past,
which reminds me
of the last time
i glimpsed your breast:
just before you pulled
your sweatshirt on
and locked the door.
This poem appeared in Unshod Quills, 2012