yellow flesh and stringy juice dripping down warm skin
teeth dragging across white pit meat stuck between teeth and i
cannot remember the last time it was this hot.
hazy mirage ripples on the broken black road and heels click against pavement in threes—
i am on my way to find that good thing.
sun’s rays dry sweet sticky trails down arms and hands these were made for loving
and i remember gecko tails and shaving cream covered faces and jellyfish stings.
how this body yearns for Medusozoa’s embrace beneath
those warm nostalgic waves—
for the home where mother learned sticky arms and hands that loved too much
and how to mend them when they broke—
for the bathing-suit-clad children scattered on the lawn
air filled with warm rain and giddy shrieks
hands with fat piss-filled frogs—
but we were young and did not care and washed ourselves in the moonlit downpour.
now gravel turns to sod clicks on pavement to hushed stamps in soft earth
ears ring with the cicadas’
and the sudden realization that this is what it is.