If the flesh is wholesome 
like a fresh coconut slice
then they are the flesh holes of some
 malnourished art deco bag of bones
that won’t stop at stop signs or a limelight
 or quit the gamble
when they are obviously ahead.

When the oreganos of a Summer morning

shift their aromas into my drugstore sleep, I declare
all my bad behaviors to be an act 
the way a kleptomaniac really wants
the attention of her ex-lover who is out snorkeling

with his latest girlfriend amongst those Miami starfish.

The tropical boys may swish their asses but they

batter the bloated hands that feed them
with their rainbow lips submerged and retarded.

Former Versace Mansion, Miami. Converted into Hotel Casa Casuarina…