Barely clothed beneath their clothes
They pash, his baseball cap nudging
Her pinned purple black fringe;
The bus lurches, and with a slack grin
His face falls into her lap
Below the Plimsoll Line of skirt
And stays there till every neck
Aches from arching: She giggles,
At what, when there are so many choices,
And he resurfaces all out of breath
Gasps and suckers to her mouth and
They don’t take breath for a full stop.
When the cosmos is nothing
But a drifting black hulk,
A celestial Marie Celeste,
Those mouths will still be kissing
Blithely ignoring the departed god
Allegedly behind it all,
In whose name priests forbade
The eating of meat of a Friday and
The meeting of lips in a pubic place.
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