I’m gonna fall from the tips of your fingers
beads of sweat off your forehead
oak logs into ashes
shaken leaves in autumn

I’ll pour into flower beds
and nestle with red wigglers
Tell me about the slow stretch of your shoulders
and the scars on your knees
Lets pound them into perfect soil
roll around in cover crop
I’ll probably need you to pick flowers out of my hair
when I fall asleep in the dirt on summer nights
I might need your raspberry lips to kiss grass stains
off my overalls
and sun-kissed shoulders
but in the morning I’ll praise
the way you lay still clutching my waist
like holding tight to the tops of trees