Juicy, Dreamy Drink

Swimming happily among the mangoes in a bowl of jungle juice,
I snap my neck nervously toward the lovely strawberry,
and ask what such a lush is doing here.

Might I remind him of that evening, that end
of all our dreams?
Long, soft white stockings so recklessly tossed
into a pile of old snacks and torn up pages,
had to be dug up with equal haste.

Says the interested apple chunk, "Am I interrupting?"
"Gosh, no."
And we bubble along, up to the surface
where the bass echoes in ripples with every tripping beat.

The fresh, intoxicating scent of apples, freshly scliced,
hits my face as quick as alcohol to air.
Remember when we escaped to the forest, branches in our hair?
Or did that not happen as we dwindled off to sleep?

Sweet and new has always scared me stiff,
so much that it's difficult just to float.
So much pressure caused by life clotted in my throat.

Apple kiss by orange bliss,
I will learn how to breath with you.
But only if you learn to sleep like me.
With me.

A party's fish-bowl forever is our sea.