Closer Than They Appear Poem by Kewayne Wadley

If you bring the wine, I'll cook a pasta
That stretches from here to the closest
Star we look up & see.
We'll whirl our forks around the milky way
& the planets of meatballs that's soon to orbit our stomachs.
When the sun goes down
be here around 8: 15pm
my lips will greet you with the first kiss of the night
on the balcony of a wood spoon.
Everything will be stellar in terms of
How bright your lip gloss will spread against
The moisture of my lips.
Before you come be sure to pick up
A bottle of wine,
To compliment how good everything tastes.
Our tongues will stargaze into each other's mouths.
Our saliva the pasta sauce that drenches
Our taste buds.
Until nothing is left