the sweetest fruit is your smile in the haze of dawn.
the sweetest fruit surrounds us, misted, electric,
sustains us through plodding schedules, timetables,
becomes the line of flesh we create again, at last.
lazy laughter tumbles from occupied hands busy mouths,
song of late-day's prayed-for caresses.
we roll and change positions, each now controlling, each consumed,
pulled by the heat of summer's music,
melody of skin colliding in rhythm,
we dance one inside the other
we walk the line of dusk, the soft crack between worlds,
almost dreaming, fluid,
lost in clenched muffled cryings out --
sweetest fruit plucked from the tree of life.
clover tickles your thighs, your neck, soft breathing returns.
i lay blades of grass in the shallow valley between your breasts.
stars claim the sky;
the backbone of night, adrift.