The long backyard of neatly-cut grass stretched out silently beneath the summer sun.
Far from the house, along the wood panel fence of fading red paint, stood a teen-aged maple tree.
Under the tree lay Sarah, her heart-shaped face shaded by the large leaves,
her bare feet exposing themselves to the hot summer sun.
In the morning the warmth holds you close,
Softly whispering day-long promises of bright afternoons.
Ending with a dreamy dusk of oranges and pinks.
Breathless and still, my stomach is heavy as a stone.
The floating emptiness inching towards the heavens of my mouth.
The blood in my veins circulate through my body, above the chaos of abdomen.
The inner tubing of my chest carries the thud that beats from my heart to the left ear.
The collar bone, lying above this network of tissue, resists against my spandex skin:
A beauty of the Jurassic kind.
My eyelids are cold, they itch with sleep.
How they long to meet each other for the night.
Brief meetings are nice,
But long periods of togetherness are sweeter.
Eyelids are like lovers,
Brushing against one another, yearning for bed.
