startles me,

lapping on the deck,

such a small now still,

lizard to my left.

She looks at me.

No. He looks at me.

Four push-ups—thrust

to the thrust

to the thrust

to the thrust.

He eyes me,

fans a pink neck,

a lady loving,

dewlap. Dude sack.

I blush, so eye to eye,

but he eyes not me,

slither slither thrusting she.

The lizard to my left's

lover's to my right:

I see, I see,

she's pink on the flower,

he's pink on the tree.

I'm cheering in my mind,

dewlap, dewlap, dewlap.

She sees him not,

I silently scream,

lizard on my left,

look what you've got,

make love,

make love,

thrust, thrust, and begot.

I can't help but motion,

pantomiming love.

But "No," I shriek!

He's lapped to the south;

she's lapping to the north;

they've missed each other lapping,

each lapping back and forth.

A tear, a cry,

the rain is near,

but I don't go inside.

My phone. I fear. A woman.

Oh dear, a lizard to my left.

A.H., how I hide.

A.H., how they cheer.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit substack.qntns.com