Come down from that branch
and annoy me, my little bird.
Describe to me the latest conspiracy
and watch me turn violet.
I feel a buttery reckless when I am in love.
Blotting berries on our lips in the wild
afternoon. How sweet the fat earth’s rogue
which stains our fingertips, and who are we
to part the volcanos? Sipping grape juice
in stemless wine glasses, casting spells
on the boys who’d taunt us
for our hairy legs, and oh the way we
love each other. Our lives pouring
across calendar pages in crystals,
and that sort of twirl
only the tongue and throat do.
Saliva stamped days, and the way time leans tipsy.