Color my drapes
In your watermelon flushes,
Let your high hairstyles
Brush my ceiling
When we rise
On the waves, to the carpet
We’ll skid, the monotony of life
At last broken
We’ll remember this day,
If not the details of our clothes
The smells, the heat,
The thrum in our chests
Your rainfall, my neck
Craned, your lips
Cross the bridge, and we
Down each other’s insides
It’s tough, like a mountain climb,
We pant as dogs
And wheeze in the licks,
Sunday winds outside
In the hammers
Out back, the door to the shed
Slams and the shovel topples
But I don’t care.
Let the storm clean it up.
