Anyday in June



the sweetest fruit is your smile in the haze of dawn.
the sweetest fruit surrounds us,
misted, electric,
sustains us through plodding schedules, timetables,
becomes the line of flesh we create again, at last.
lazy laughter tumbles from occupied hands, busy mouths,
song of late day's prayed-for caresses.
we roll and change positions, each now controlling
each consumed,
pulled by the heat of summer's music,
melody of skin colliding in rhythm.
we dance one inside the other,
we walk the line of dusk, the soft crack between worlds,
almost dreaming, fluid,
lost in clenched muffled cryings out -
sweetest fruit plucked from the tree of life.

clover tickles your thighs, your neck,
soft breathing returns.
I lay blades of grass in the shallow valley
between your breasts.
stars claim the sky,
the backbone of night, adrift.




i drink the wine that flows from your mouth
and you purr -
a smoky caress of heat that covers me,
fills me.
we become silhouettes
as the light fades into deep shadows.
i can't see your smiles, but
my fingers absorb them
as i trace your name across the contours of your chest,
gliding over the sweat we've created. and shared.
vowels tangle in your aureoles
and you bubble over in contralto sighs
and giggles;
your nails strafe me, lightly, slowly,
drawing liquid sparks.
and we begin, again.