Poetry: Saturation

The day has driven her to get high
To crawl upon the back of
lasciviousness and fingerfuck the clouds
weightless foci penetrate her borders
she thrusts herself over the threshhold
and into another world.

Open wide, the honeydew potency
of her tongue drifts up and out

melting into the porcelain whiffs
of a treasure chest filled with
three-piece suits and hipster shades
palate to membrane, she licks at
the memory of every pungent passerby.

Beneath her tender feet she watches
the blood of foreign fruit awash
in a river of lemony piss. A penny
she lifts midstream, places it on
her hybrid tongue. The coppery sting
a reminder that she is but a weighted balloon.