Contemporary once more from summer season
and its fields of unrepentant grass,
we strip down within the dooryard
of my little home, examine one another over
for ticks. By now we’ve got
outlived embarrassment,
although of the bare pastimes,
this one stays the extra intimate:
what shapes we make
within the flashlight’s chiaroscuro,
interrogating each mole, each freckle,
earlier than kissing them, an apology
to the harmless for such accusations.
Not usually however generally I’ll spot one
strolling throughout your moist pores and skin, motion
as misquoted shibboleth. I ferry
the little liar to the hearth, cautious
to burn what may need come
between us. Such as you, I don’t want this
however I need this. The betrayal
of the wrestle to maintain nonetheless.
