It began beneath a hot tick
Slipping off the clock like honey
Landing in a small, round summer,
Inside a piece of fruit

We stayed soft,
We dabbled in sweat and citrus from sunrises.
We were hornets

Molly tossed herself against the glass
I watched the yellow chip off her back,
I watched it gather on the bottom of the jar
I loved her carefully

Until summer rotted on top of us
I loved her while being smothered
By the guts of a dying, edible season
I loved Molly until we, and the hours were flattened
Stuck on the bottom of the jar