When the winds die down
and the light through the trees
throws ghosts against the walls
of your cul-de-sac room,
if you could, please conjure
an absent smiling me.

My cherry-chewed gums
from salted taffy sweets
will swiftly scuttle back
beneath your bed sheets
to nibble at your coming
and splayed, white teeth.

And the bees will continue
burrowing their hives
in my rotting flower box
late into the fall
because they can't let go.