The only truth I know is you…
I remember August, the months
between us and then;
apricot blossoms,
nectar swollen peaches dripping down chins,
midnight rain against the window,
and maybe jazz, instrumental
some sweet and yearning song
that the neighbor played
at dawn.
You said you didn’t like the downy
skin, and sliced it into
wet and fibrous crescents
licking syrup off the slick silver blade
of your shiny red swiss army knife
and pulled the swollen pink-orange pulp
out of tender flesh with half-bared teeth
lips wet and glossed.
When it started raining, I threw
my sweater full over my head
laughter rustled through oak branches and
wet, sluicing still green leaves
as I ran for home.
You smirked and chased after me.
We got in soaked bone deep,
teeth chattering we laid quiet
in each other’s heat
and listened to
some distant serenade.
If I could be that girl again;
red swashes of laughter through
golden beach summers,
young and playing younger
all wind, and sun, and laughter.
Instead, with heedful morning
slipping quiet past
headlong night,
and the aria ebbing out
I’ll become some silent Other
waiting listless through
another anonymous November.