By Ayla Rose Miller
when courtney coulter exclaims
that making out with curtis feels
like ice cream melting down her
cone into a warm pool of panty fudge
you’ll want to agree, to belong
to this pack of lollipop lickers,
even though mario’s mouth made
you feel like crawling back inside
your own panties and hibernating
until the next freeze. release the need
to appease the expectation of every
man you come across whose popsicle
stands tall for the shape of your sundae
snack for there will be a woman
and then many women whose ice
cream treat will make your entire
body melt until you are but the mere
ice cream drippings courtney once described.
Ayla Rose Miller is an enthusiastic new poet from northern New Jersey breaking into the writing scene.