A surfboard in every refrigerator

Smacking my lips at every pantomime shimmer
that ripples on the surface of your tender denial
(a delicate architecture comprised of fishbones & concrete
or a distant memory of civilization
like spilling seawater on the ocean floor
pelicans of copper & of steel
& silk things that rust at the edges of tide pools
when you’d just as soon park it in a barcalounger on the beach
half buried in the sand)
Such passion skids out of control for those who disregard
true romance
like a lull in the action plastered with million dollar bills
which is why I’m loading the squirt gun with tequila
& rocking the mortuary RayBans             at midnight
with knocks & pings in the terza rima