of sugar helps the Metformin go down.
Mine are syrupy sentences, sweetheart.
I save them for perverted spelling bees.
Then I slip the leftovers, as epistles, into pill bottles.
I send them to patients.
Dear fellow asthmatic-dramatic-diabetic-
60px;empathetic-badass-addicts: you alright?
You better be! This morning I surveyed
the vitamin shelves in Banff then had to
pen a poem without the letter C.
Grindr to a halt these days.
Replace pick-up lines with dissonance.
Do you even KNOW how big my dick isn’t?
My feet are girl-small but fit nicely in shit-kicking boots.
Naw. My elk flesh is tender, pairs well with winter-pink fruits.
You’d all be a barnacle on the hull of husky me,
but I will be the little spoon sometimes…
not infrequently. Come virus,
the world is hot for double negatives.
If you are gay enough to not know
that the hull is the bottom of a boat,
please apply within my brief reprieve from grief.
Be sweet in me, Sunny D.
Don’t give anybody pineapple juice
because your palate balks. Tang
can be mixed with whatever
you’ve anti-christened SPOON
in your quarantine room.
No guy needs all the usual parts and utensils.
Toddlers know that one will do.
Spoon me, scrape me. Beat me
with browned butter, and my hands
will be dextrose for you.