the red glow, gentle, not as vertiginous as the air,
is saved only by its ethereal nature
from being swept up into the churning night.

it is this same nature that condemns it to
suffuse into the blooming blue lambency-
which is now green. and now peach.

even feigning surprise becomes impossible
in this place of transmutation
when examined by the soul

those with physical forms are not spared either
but some are more mutable than others:

peach juice, for example, ripens with glycerol, and relinquishes
its color when it diffuses into wine
which holds its color, no matter the light
and will seep through fabric, when conditions are right
like every other form of nectar here

so be free of it, drop it all on the ground
making little mounds of cloth, little
mole-hills in the dark

which blend less, but
black-and-white houndstooth
perfectly matches a brown
Birkenstock (or bag) in our own
personal heaven.

The air, it shimmers when we’re at this height
mixed with low light makes a good time tonight
my heart is beating, lungs are breathing,
yet in my skull, there’s very little thinking
Until we shift and my eyes refocus,
and then it hits me - only one thing worth notice
That’s you, of course, and what a fitting allegory,
I almost believe that it tells the whole story

Of the one that moves slow, the other: quick
But I wouldn’t change a single bit
I love our walks, the regular picnics
And our calls in summer, I must admit

And with this time I’ve learned to understand you, Dexter
This is a brag, perhaps, but not conjecture
With a gesture, you give a lecture,
Thankfully this class will last past the semester

While evergreen is our wintery scene, lit with snowflakes, alligators, and all things between
I cannot help but gaze on to spring, for who knows what joys that season will bring?
Up we’ll rise, held by the flowers in bloom, mimicking between our thighs, I presume
And how fitting that the magnolia tree blossoms at six months for you and me.