Salsa Poem by John W. McEwers

Squirming, uncomfortable,
like acid running down the pale
outside of a jello mold,
red ravines cut from the melting.

Groans mingle with
trumpeting pain, casting reason into
to the orchestral cacophony
echoing across the water's surface.

Pinched, stripped raw.
The sweet heat of a wonderful lover
transformed into lesions of agony.

'At your own risk',
printed on the jar.
I was warned, and so I weep
and wait for relief.