THE TONGUE

for Ben Estes

So taste
as day
arranges the red
and orange flowers
from tongue to tongue
like losing the cymbal’s
clang for all its glints
we crept behind the moon
which always insists on sleeping over
a belly for a mouth
an hour past the movie
we were still filming
the way food fills
in the cracks
between your teeth
or song
in sheets
against the windshield
no one believes
air is the enemy
so don’t be afraid
to breathe all this speech
someone already died to say
the moon is on the couch
so we climb onto the roof
and stick out our bellies
which slosh and go flowers
red and orange flowers
hairy and pink-stemmed
like champagne flutes
we always overuse
we do
nothing right
unless by tongue
or by cymbal
in the little time
left before sun drives
all the workers into work
all the workers into work