Before I knew what a panic attack was, or how to come down
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
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.