Your Armpits Smell Like Heaven
But your breath could melt a glacier at three
miles, she says, and then we might consider
the dirt under your nails, the way you slur
your sibilants, and how you seldom see
the cracked eggs in a carton, a downed tree
branch in front of you, the ripened blister
of paint in the bedroom, or your sister
lying drunk on the floor in her own pee.
Back to your armpits. Do you realize
we could bottle that aroma and make
a fortune? I inhale it and forgive
your many faults. The odor provokes sighs
and tingles, blushes I could never fake.
Ain’t love grand? Elevate those arms. Let’s live!
Never in my wildest dreams did I envision writing a poem about armpits. But the August 2015 Tupelo Press 30-30 challenge, and Plain Jane, the title sponsor, provided that opportunity. This first appeared here in April 2016, and was subsequently published in Algebra of Owls. Many thanks to editor Paul Vaughan for taking it.
O at the Edges 
Brings a smile! (Thank you.)
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I’ve considered doing another Tupelo Press 30-30, if only for the surprising poems that sprout from that month’s immersion. Fun, but exhausting.
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Oh, please do! I’ll definitely sponsor one!
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Me too!
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I’d love another title from you, Ron!
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Possibly April or June. 🙂
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Delightfully fun. Thanks for the smile.
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When I was given that title, my first thought was “what the hell can I do with this?” And then “love sonnet” came to mind. Ha!
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