blue bird, pork roast, lavender.
The small of your back, humped
skin, goose bumps, baby hairs.
Humidity sticks to the ribs,
like oatmeal, or sausage. Content
in the smeared landscape, a lake
with blue pudding water, dappled
with light. I caress the tungsten
oar and push the boat further afield.
City trucks are a memory now
almost erased by bare feet, a wooden
dock, the smell of Coppertone.
The fever of forgetting everything
what was I thinking before you?