Start with a house made of matches.
I would like to spend all my hours in all my days being a child with you.
Your hips are an orchard, where I put my lips, teeth, and tongue to the fruit that ripens with our heat.
One neighbor has come to me, swathed in her cloak and veil blue as the sea.
I lay, arms stretched in darkness, noon through the curtain call
We perched together, dug in roots that reached but did not intertwine for so long to each other