I’ll always remember the taste of your lips.

            Keep your mind off that gutter

ball, girl. Maybe it was because you tasted

            like sweet hints of glitter, gloss.

Did you know I was a sucker from the start?

            We were so close to figuring

out the entry angles, but your long oil got me

            every time. And sure, you felt

like my magic strike, but you kept your bed

            posts moving. Although I know

I wouldn’t cry foul —you never had a bad rack

            —your deck was more jumper

than boomer and mine too lofty to double. But

            man did I have a sweet spot

for your baby split.

Rebecca Thrush currently work in property management in Massachusetts. Select artwork and poems have appeared across a variety of publishers, both in print and online. Many pieces have been shared on her Instagram (@rebeleigh92). Most notable of her 2022 publications, "Strawberry Seeds" was nominated by 300 Days of Summer for the Pushcart Prize.