Orchards and Jezebels

Knowing you again, on sight.

I anticipate your hands on me.

For now, the rules. 

Let’s talk the past 

and the futures. 

Not carefully removing you from everything I’m planning. 

Forward and unshy— 

I’d expect you to walk away. 

But you and I run deeply, 

even in seven years of silence. 

Your fire hands are warm. 

Kiss, I insist. 

Drinking you, I want those hands. 

Years without hands. 

I’m drunk on your touch, in your mouth.
Please don’t let go. 

Just let’s go.

And perform in the grass as I gaze into a perfect country sky. 

Whittle away the hours between 

sunset and sunrise.