Two lovers start to kiss beside a row
of roller coasters, creaky tilt-a-whirls
and games of chance, ignoring all the noise
surrounding them. It's August, and they taste
the afternoon: her lips made salty from
a burger, his turned sweeter by a piece
of cotton candy. Each one tries to hold
their breath as tightly as they try to hold
the other, fingers slick with sugared grease.
Behind them, metal gears begin to thrum
as nervous children close their eyes and place
their palms along the bars, young girls and boys
sent screaming, spinning, locked inside a world
designed to break, to force the letting go.