Evaporation is the opposite
of a wet dream
the residue of dew
clear drops beaded clean petals holding forth
as the bicycle wheels spun
out of control
behind the offending
beehive.
did I
shock him
with my escapade or was it
my tank
top,
my camellia
bush my squishy laughter
at his skinned knee?
I tried to suck
the poison out of my
sting but the remedy
was wrong, only salt on my tongue
I should have asked
my grandma, stern and terse,
not the cuddly pigeon some kids get
but there were her
gem-filled pies
and those tiny sapphires
from the Montana mine
her uncle toiled in
I pedaled off
on the bike
he didn’t need
his knee would heal
and I by then long gone