the sensory nearness of you after i've left: ankle deep in wet grass in my backyard, watching quick clouds recover the moon. your mouth and its smiling, gasping, whispering, laughing, twisting in my heart, echoing in the strings of stars that curve above my face. bury me here, in the summer wet, that i will always remember the slick of you between my hands.

below this darling cliff are the rocks of bitter lies and cold years, but i have already leapt the edge, your face and the ghosts that offer to catch me as i fall. glowing, i attract metallic swarms of late season insects to my sides, aphrodite attended by the thoughtless hordes. and whether i am feeding on the insects or the swarm is feeding on me is too close to call, so i drift freely in the humid night, thatching my dreams together with spit. a peace, a calm, your voice, a thousand times your name.

i am not worthy of what you give me; this does not prevent me from asking for more.