POETRY
Gooseflesh
Joey Gould

My friend wants words
to stop a bullet
but they won't.
Love might, but then
think about the man
kissing the man
as a last earthly act:
love & dancing
under the palms
fragmented into flak.
How can you not shout, 
no. How can the wind
blow away the sun,
but it lowers the degree
& gives the entire
month goosebumps.
A goosebump June,
a line of crying
waiting to give blood.


Pulling my hair
out of my face
he kissed me
on the street
once. So happy,
I asked him
if he wanted to
get us both killed.


Just to kiss a man. 
those goosebumps,
plumes of water.
Music & club-dusk.
You don't have to kiss me,
but let me inscribe
a short passage on
the back of his shoulders
walking down a street.
His arm in my arm
will be out of view soon
around a corner
out into the dusk
& Florida
will still bear
oranges. Go see them
in the trees where they bloom.
Pick one instead
of all this-- maybe
it's impossible
to kill with citrus
on your lips.
Maybe it is. 
But I'd rather
be eating an orange
than... than
this trailing off
forever.
Wouldn't you?


Joey Gould is a frequent contributor to MassPoetry.org & a member of the Massachusetts Poetry Festival planning committee. He tutors writing at Framingham State University & lives in Hopedale, MA. He enjoys kissing boys & girls, and has been an Audubon member for nine years.