by Craig Cotter
Tapped him on the shoulder and handed him
my chewed grape gum—
he didn’t smile,
looked in my eyes,
took gum out of his mouth
and we swapped.
His was cinnamon.
It was the only way we could kiss.
—Summer, 1976
Craig Cotter was born in 1960 in New York and has lived in California since 1986. New poems have appeared in Hawai’i Review, Poetry New Zealand, California Quarterly, Eleven Eleven, Caliban Online, Columbia Poetry Review & Tampa Review. His fourth book of poems, After Lunch with Frank O’Hara, is currently available from Chelsea Station Editions (New York).
Hawaii Pacific Review 
This is some intimate poetry
Chronosfer, brandtschubbe, Nicholas Gagnier, Past Reminisce thanks for the kind words and response.
Thanks for the like azaleaazelia.