You are rattlesnakes under my heels.
open your mouth,
outside and I stand and kiss by a lemon tree.
It is my choice to count the textures of leaves
to fall asleep.
From your front porch we stare out
on to fields where crows flock.
You have longed to love longer
I have things to do. I miss everything sour, my hair and dust collecting, and it’s triumphant, the dust is contagious, and one day this city
will remember me.
In my mind, I am not the last poet.This life that I have been drawing of two stick figures in a garden waiting for their names to appear in the back pages. I dreamt of Kahlo when my spit blotted the paper, and ink bled until it stopped speaking secret rooms.