[Jim Moonan]

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Her Jam


I told her again: Don’t lick the knife.
But I’m always too late.
“Too late!” she grins, snaking her tongue
between her lips to chase the last sweet smear.
“One of these days,” I warn, “you’ll taste blood.”
She shrugs, gives it one last languid swipe—
slow and theatrical.

Then, like nothing at all,
she tosses the blade in the sink,
wipes her mouth with the back of her hand,
and says,
“We’re out of blueberry jam.
Pick some up, will you?”




Edits
Title was "Jam"
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