amber glass

there was a summer that burned through the windows at night. we sleep on top of the sheets, ice packs to our chests. here we are us. or am i still becoming . . there is something about being away from the coast. long days where heat doesn’t break and the sky bleeds out slow at dusk. we are close to the sun.

dreams hang low like ripe fruit on a heavy vine gone wild. we haven’t said it but we are afraid to pluck them so they buzz in the air like a monsoon coming off of the mountains. I wait on the porch at night for the rain and right words.

there is a flicker deep in your dark eyes I am not a good enough writer to put to words. but pressing my lip to your shoulder feels like kissing the sun. there is something safe about a man who is wild in the good ways, wild like land.

strip the sugar keep the bone this is home. you talk about storms coming in off the mountains, making the coffee. like i said—something about this place and us in the dust. bare feet tangled on stools in a bar with AC you in those jeans and a soft tee with messy hair. deep in the desert and right back on the edge of everything until we feel like jumping. but this night is quiet and my heart feels gentle.