Gifted for my age until I started talking
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
Thin trees rise from the thick texture of the saw palmettos’ sharp green leaves.
Your foot first descends like a butterfly in the desert. You want to be sand.