These words won’t matter when I die
In this world are far better poets than I
A wish beyond death is not worth my fret
To care too much is it’s own punishment

yellow nights and bluebells
puddles of water, deeper pools than
the constant lake we muddled through
sunbeams always as bright as possible
torrential downpours of Zeus’s callings
ever enchanted we watch as she follows

curiosity growing;
a wiggle in the wet!

an earthquake of micro proportions
she, a young god, watches diligent
blank features, and the anticipation-
He’s here; creeping along, thick fingers reflect
drops of water and mud encasing small paws
Grabbed!

He is here
but not for long, she
a shriek of young birdsong
reverberates loud enough to break
the melody of a rainy afternoon
each drop sings

There! In the shadows, she watches
breaking hushed tranquility that shades
my eucalyptus
on a morningbeige wall

the Tingle, it’s here. a sense
of unease as she climbs my;
nick! and imports her touch. Lick
up my arms, fingers unwelcomely
running through my head
she is in my scalp   

itching imprint stays, echoing off
tired skin. ruining tender visions
of whispering
eclipse filled daynight

Perhaps
they came together;
in shallow memories of dark
Chicago forbid my viewing

She’s here now. watch
wild fingers grabbing lapping  
trees, ******* up their marrow
Creeping; burrowed in cold breeze
on my quiet 73 degrees
afternoon willow

her hands touch without touch,
eyes catch moments of them
past dusk, aching sunlight echoes
more distantly down time’s dust

each day she; the moon comes
closer and colder I see her
fingers, lustly peek out behind
looming, that chipped orb

the encompassing force was all;
no shades protected
retinas burned, she is here!
behind my eyes

her fingers

to close my eyes is to touch her
her ***** nails
they would drag me
I feel her