Poetry

To know this – poem

In your gaze I go
grape pulp, the mess of
oh shit! No words
for this. Let’s make wine
with what sticks to toes
splashes up shins
and in your gaze I
I go daisy, the stretch of
long lawns percolate
yellow and sky
aquamarine. No
way to know this.
How gazing
at you I see traps
untripped, nets unflung
and afternoons
for-a-long-time-ever
sitting in the high
bright sun.

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