the whole enchilada

I was sure
I wouldn't make it
but the habanero sting
on my lips
compelled me.
I saw you
under clouds of steam
and then launched into a gallop.
beads of sweat
clung to my forehead.
an accelerating pulse
echoed in my ears.
swirling hypnotically
I just can't live
without your taste.

Paul David Mena
16 September, 1997
Boston, MA

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