When summer comes,
turning blossoms into fruit
and the city sticky slow,

we walk until we’re tired.
We stop and look at light
reflecting off things—tiles,

tall buildings, snails’ shells;
the skunk cabbages doubled
in the chattering stream.

When evening comes,
with the sun on our bodies
settling, soaking in,

we unfurl, silky skin petals
poking out like tongues
to taste moonlight.

Our blood hums
with the day’s activity,
pulsing in tune with the night.


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