Melissa Smit. Your voice, your very name
a lisp, your hissing tongue,
your backcombed hair.
Bubblegum pink and baby blues,
and blonde, so blonde, but I knew you,
I saw through
the wide-eyed looks, the way you took
a sherbet dip-dab to your lips
and licked, and licked
and locked on him, on him, my Jim,
my all-time love. Your whispered words
and berry mouth
too much to resist, your apple bite,
your serpent’s kiss.