Maybe wings. Something sparrow-
like and rood. It's the terrible
trick you play with your hands
deseeding an avocado--
slamming in, then a turn.
In a year, I've turned
wet as a fish. And you
are the water I cut through.
How did you come up with that
thing about wet souls?
When we drink it comes out
a little bit. You missed a belt
loop. I know, I have a little yuck
in the corner of my eye.
Go back to that under you
bit, your mouth of opportunity.
For what? Even now, it doesn't
matter but that we're here
in the shade, touching. There is
a kindness in the light, when
a gesture is a countenance
you catch in flight. I don't need
to be under you to feel it.
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