When we lay in the grass reading the skies
In the summer grass, sonnets, love’s sweetest prize
Reading aloud the poet’s iambic sighs
But mostly reading within each other’s eyes
Each other’s eyes, through heartbeats in errant skips
And breathing, breathing through each other’s lips
And gently, gently touching fingertips
And tasting each other in soft, sensuous sips
And as for the book, we didn’t finish it that day
And as for each other…