she makes me
soar
like a science-fair soda rocket, the tails of children's screaming glee

she makes me
fly
on wings of kites, that stream back in nylon ribbons to loving hands

she makes me
burn
the white ash on dewy green grass, new July morning

she makes me
fall
landing on pillows, laughing into soft sheets so obscenely wrinkled-

she makes me
crave
sweater dipping low on her shoulder, smiling up, the way she whispers between our lips:
you make me.