by Neile Graham
Come layer of prickle-sweat masking faces Come the trickle into hollows, down the spine sharpening each body's scent— Come estival fêtes and fevers, sun-fired sidewalks mountain haze as the high snows sizzle and sublimate— Come pungent breath off the shoreline Come lift of mock orange, rosemary, lavender Heat driven, bright in thickened air— Come slow breeze to dry the grasses, boost the leaf, velvet the night, cool the sheets, raise the scent of the day's sun on darkening skin— as layers of cloth thin to gauze. Come the three a.m. hush and the dawn cacophony of birds. The shush as your ankle parts from mine, our backs just touching as day folds over us like wings. Crimson wings, afire for our resurrection. Let there be day-long murmured words not of parting till long past the rust-brown curve to autumn becomes rain.
September 30th, 2016