strictly tasting

we defied everyone, at least once;
splitting grapefruit with samurai swords
and yelling like children on table tops.

i was in italy when i had my first real drink.
i told you about it in the same email
that i sent my father, denouncing tequila for life.

we wanted to be real native americans
so we ate beef jerky, drove around in an old pick-up
and wore coats with sheep-like wool lining.

strictly tasting, i imagine him naked and panting,
his chest rising and falling like a sleeping dragon
and i curl around him, soaking up his sweat.