Said I'd never go back to Texas
But there's something pulling me there
I'll face my destiny in a dusty street -

She's got a gun in her hand and pale lavender hair

Her skin pale ice
Her body, winter.

My hands smooth
Across her flesh,
Warmth blooms,
Spring blossoms.

My kiss is heat,
I taste her snowmelt.

We can close the three-hundred and some odd mile gap
and stand silent for a second with our
                brainwashed gazes, glassy and glazed.
I’ll drive five hours to find the boy with the tired eyes—
the boy who made me promise.
                It’s for keeps.
We can spread a blanket and I’ll show you
the big and little dippers in the soil sky
                (they’re all I know how to find).
We can touch and whisper in a composition of exhales
and our two tongues that hide behind our four lips—
                yours that mask the gap I don’t mind,
                mine that I bite until purple and bleeding—
will drip with nectar, syrupy and saccharine,
which we will cup in half moon hands.