326/365: About An Old Friend When She Was Very High On LSD Twenty Years Ago

There was a soft place
on her shoulder
just outside where her bra strap sat.
It pressed in warm and easy
like a bruised apple in the sun.
There was no explanation for it,
no violence, no accident of childhood.
Its perfect shape for a mouth
or the heel of a hand
made it a natural point of control,
of steerage,
and we moved her about pleasantly
like a child
in need of watching.


In Search of the Alchemical Spark of Superheroes

Sushi and Mounties