june

june is not sober
the cinnamon shock.
june is the sugar rush
drug of choice
the spanish moss
and harmless lance-edged
sands suckling my toes
like vodka.
intoxicating.
june is feverish
the hot gulp of tea
after two minutes of peppermint
toothpaste and listerine.
june is effervescent
the champagne hangover
the arms of the vapid lovers
or the newly thin.
june is that fervor
the unexpected orbital.
june is the salt-scratch at my eyes
(licking at my insides like
an oversize and very friendly terrier).
june is the courtyard
but june has no home.