there is always a dance in memory recalled

do you remember the petty thieves that nicked our golden time
with inexplicably bucolic adhesives and simpering mailings
while, in our panic that suddenly erupted over a bloodless box,

the ticking low tide crawled in like a sneaky scarlet clock,
and grinned?

I think I meant the tide but I might have meant the thieves:

I remember the clucking of a wet tongue over frosted puckered lips
and plaid shorts that rhymed the bongo with a wryly thumping rhythm,

and:

go, man, go.

if you needed a color to make this scene ring true,
I would have suggested a pale, cool, translucent green-

then there was that geometric row about cranberry and lime,

before:

lefty told gene to nose the impala out from the lane and watch for heat,
and paul declaimed mayonaisse on a hamburger if lettuce was included,
and paula groveled her greasy coins for the salvation of neon seduction-

My clamdiggers got wet when I washed the tidal loss,
and I had to go to bed.