The wind glows through the leaves and I imagine my fingers
moving through your hair; I paint the image of your face on the landscape,
though you are not really here, this stirring of the overheated world we live
in, sweat over, and pine about, not able to fell it all for real, the gentle
kiss on your moist lips, the imagined press of hips, the slow sway in a dance
that can only grow more intense the more we engage in it, the wind scented with
your scent, stirs up a need n me I know I cannot satisfy, this late in the season,
this so distant in the world.
The wind gusts stir up the leaves as I peek at the previous fruit
dangling under the canopy, and I can never pry loose no matter how I try.
The wind glows the leaves and I cannot help but think of
you.
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