Strong like twisting oak branches in late summer haze   your arms
that bubbles to the surface Slowly like spheres of gas      your humor
from sticky tar melting under the summer sun
then Quickly like water droplets dancing on a hot skillet
Rain hanging like sheets in a gray Clamoring line your legs
two blocks down we run in the sun


already the dampness between your collar
and the smoothness of your neck


like microscopic globes of perfect
prismic sweat
lined up for my greedy tongue


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