I’m a fork in your microwave, sparking.
A goddess clutching lightening sticks.
The sizzling skeletal outline of a cartoon
cat with its paws on live wires.
An electrical fire. Sodium bicarbonate.
You’re the loose floorboard that slaps
my forehead – smack! – to the sound
of canned laughter. The lasso that pins
a sprung palm tree to the sand.
My mouse trap, my rabbit warren.
Like a bath bomb of ice-cream in soft drink.
The frantic tug of a thousand
tiny cupids. A magic carpet
that carries us, sleeping, clear
through the night. Our velvety rocket.