The mist in the air ran its cool
Fingertips across my earlobes,
Down my cheek
And trailed across my neck
Raising a track of shivers.
The last sun laid its hand on my chest. Brazenly.
The clouds rub each other’s fast softness with a slow lasciviousness.
I took my heart,
Red asymmetric flawed jewel,
Offered it up…
My only possible response.
In return, the green grass whispered with unrequited longing,
“Put that back. You’re going to need it.”