It’s a remnant from having studied French
she said plus perfectly, the tip of her tongue
all over in the right place, she breathless
throaty with her R

I held her longer than most
in the wind with fingertips
on lashes snowflakes melted
atop her body’s heat, small eyelit flames

Of ember ablaze in night-rubbed velvet
against the grain barely purple, simply that time again
I push aside a single lock of an S
more breath than kiss swept away

I urge her to spin with a touch
to the hand apply pressure enough to propel
her to rotate about on the point of a world
that spirals her axes abound
her carousel horse gallops organ-spun
sun is alive diamond photons
still warm and so new, yet
to cast any shadow

Apropos to nothing that I know of
yet I sense that we light up
essentially this way, she allowed me
to show her

I loved her because
she wore espadrilles, not despite that
let’s be clear

Chagall 2015

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