to lap the drips which stain my shoes
blood pink. You’re worried I crave toppings,
heart shaped rainbow sprinkles,
the things you can’t give.
You admit that you won’t be able to stick around
and help with the mess, as the sun beats down
like it wants to burn us, quick.
You hand me a hanky and a leash.
I shouldn’t romanticize this as chivalry.
You’re just well mannered, trained.
I should walk your puppy to the pound.
Throw out the ice cream
before it leaves a trail, straight to me.
Imagine me in multiple universes.
In some, I would be spotless and own a cat.
Here, none of that matters.
I make a mess, want you,
and love puppies.
I only know the flavor I want
when I taste it.