My Cardboard Balcony

After Dinner by Belinda Roddie gray gray obtuse angle the way I hold my pen and the way you kiss me with your arms like clamps and your lips scaley from the bread you've just eaten round and round we tumble between the cushions grease spittle against my cheek the ricochet bounce momentum of your teeth

"Savage Garden? I remember them! Their songs were so marvelously sappy." We were rummaging through our boxes and towers of CDs before Dad started the garage sale. Rhonda had uncovered several of her Celine Dion disks, while I had found my Backstreet Boy ones. We giggled like schoolgirls again as we searched. "To think I occasionally still listen to all this," I laughed.