YOU KNOW ME

We are introduced again.

Like linen, you sway from the clothes pins
of my shoulders,
that hilly mass flanking the contours of my neck.

Freckled limbs extend
on each side of you,
but somehow you’ve become
this era of feathers and hot-air balloons, light-headed mist of spring,
azure laughter, floating against
the curve of my hip.

You always hang, awake and ready, for my lifeless brain to slip into you. You make it so easy, as you drape against my legs, but move

to your own accord.

I like you because
you are dancing, stretching, white severity.

You rip and curl, and envelop me, wind takes you up,
and I stand defenseless

naked in the middle of the Fillmore.

It’s as if I didn’t even thank you for the light-headed mist of spring, or the boozy rain, splish splash against well-worn leather soles,
in the middle of August.

You had soul.