By the time I get to North Beach, my skin is sliding against my skin
It’s late spring and hot, and the only thing I need is gelato—
Kahlua with dark chocolate chunks and chocolate-covered almonds—
so cold—milk coffee caramel thick, licked in the shade so slow.
I scrape the bottom, and I get up to walk back downtown.
I decide to have a cookie, too. I am so
vanquished that later I also gulp a peach
and feel that falling compulsion I know
from bodysurfing at Sandy Beach.
In salt surge and sugar siphon,
I stand and stroke while each wave
eats me up, foraging,
pushing the verge,