(this time I will be i
mmersed)
i
nthe
succulentAir of wanting
(Such is not an afternoon,
summering
the
canvas of
my back
likeanoLivegrove)
You,(You! Are the lotion
in which my skin,dissolves)
You !! Are the
preciousrespite
(of the jug we call 'Helios!' )
leaking
honeygold dewdrops
ontomyshoul ders,
You Are
(perhaps)
Something to Be bathed in ,,
soaked up,as a soap sliver
,cleansing coats of ash.