(sun)

In the morning we shared a mango
as pulpy and yellow as the sun.
The world gleamed with a summer sheen
so we sat outside and let the leaves
cast shadows on our hangover eyes.
They cast shadows on themselves.
How self-contained, those trees,
how quietly they gather in the light.

We were pass-out-drunk the night before,
the drunk of scholars sick of words,
the drunk of getting lost, eating snakes,
falling down steep banks
where the railroad meets the river tracks.

And all those cups of coffee drunk from styrofoam,
what chemicals did they leave in our bodies?

My friend, you laughed
when I kissed the eyelid of your drunk left eye,
it fit on my lips like the lips of a bottle.
For once we did not speak,
and they found us asleep on the kitchen table,
lying side by side.