The wet lick of a damp tongue
left on your cheek glistens
a snail’s slow passage.
How did you not tumble
out of sleep as the shell
pulled you up out of the tide.
I mean the bright opals on your cheek
catch the dog’s eye
startled out of its color blindness.
Or you could call it pearlescent
if you prefer to describe it as luster
like a moon bean on the bucket’s raw metal.
Imagine the snail’s destination.
So important it decided
to cross the Himalayas of your bulk.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney