We drank the elbow room.
Wandered into the wine glass.
Cradled the birds.
You held my yellow dress
in your picnic hands.
A sun was in your eyes.
The kiss was warm and
soft.
I could taste your teeth.
Your mouth was a thousand
mothers weeping.
We ate the sad sounds,
chewed them slow, shared
the broken.
We danced the slow burn.
Tongued the wound.
Laid the blanket.
All was well in the hunger,
in the wet grass.
