I/You/We All Scream for Ice Cream

I scream.
I am gravid
-as a lizard is-
with hope.
The fat eggs
of expectation
tauten my belly.

You scream.
Though you try
to contain
with gun to head,
your joy
escapes
like aerosol
like helium
to the ozone
and the world beyond
your finite reserves.

We all scream.
Hands within hands
knuckles of white
and orange
and tan.
To be unacquainted
not previously introduced
altogether strange
does not preclude
our touching
and anticipating together.

Ice cream is served.