Groupies

I’m knock-kneed, in that baseline bumping
your thump thumping
in a musty corner at the café
where I do my morning purge. Steep, sweeten and sip
slow

cinnamon topped foam, hot.
sweet burn on the tongue
like that time when…

I recall your thirsty whiskey eyes, your
fingertips
and the chasm they peeked their toes
over. steel-string rugged and
graze over my johnson&johnson thighs.

I could reach the other side but
I could drop down deep, too deep and far from home. Either way there’s no
landing
upright.

so
jump across, big boy, jump
fast and with purpose.