by Colin James
I was standing next to
a rather greasy oil painting
pretending to know where
the departing diaspora went to,
when a shout came from outside.
They had found the corpse, a serious
looking young man from Manitoba.
Missing persons are so noncommittal.
I am going to kiss you soon
and when I do you will experience
an extraordinary sensation
starting at your toes then
traveling up your legs pausing for
not an unreasonable amount of time
at the back of your knees
and inner thighs, finally
exploding in your hair cave
with the retractable overhang.