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.
My heels squish in the marshy ground. I demolish tortilla chips with a plastic fork
Thin trees rise from the thick texture of the saw palmettos’ sharp green leaves.