I am an August Wednesday. Soft feet shed the bindings of leather straps, buckles, tongues, and laces; Plunge their naked soles into my umber, raw, earth. The whimsicality of me kisses your cheeks; You admire the airiness of my negative spaces-illuminated by the beams of a fading summer. The fingers and toes of my trees branch outward; Their foliage creates emerald canopies against the naked canvas of a Richland garden.
I memorized your veins here.
I thirst for your thighs
And the way your
Freckles turn to
Caramel
In the face of a
Spring Sun.
I miss the way you
Let me chart them:
My
Precious
Transfixed
Stars.
I am 22 chapters invested. My arches are still empty. My pages were once full of wonder.
I am listless mysteries.
We loved each other so much we died inside of it--
A
Romantic Tragedy.
You were literary.
And I was rows
And rows
Of words.
You read
The crevices of my skin
Like worship:
Traced my
Limbs
Like morning dew.
I was gardens
Of fragrance
And ambrosia.
I drank you.
But you'd know me by my hands,
The break in my laugh,
And the way I always have to be
Right.
I loved you coarse.
I loved you bold.
I loved you deep.
Wrenched in vibrant transparency:
Oh-
All the secrets
I can't keep.
