Journal #05.27

I love you like ice melting pure off the icicle into my mouth underneath, you touch my tongue to speak and all through the week, what with the rolling hills of my expression unfenced and undivided, sprawling all out under your warm regard, you play the card, two of diamonds, which i draw into a hand of deuces and a pair of clubs... i fan myself with royalty on the way to a flush and with you is a rush, the slow developed connect as the sun moves over a screen porch to touch us on the other side and please sun, i don't want to be touched, i say, without my permission today, and i move around to your beside, you and your cadillac margarita and the salt on your tongue, mischief in your eyes... i see your hand, do you not realize... now i know if only i go to the kitchen bare-footed for the freezer trays of blue i crack for you, the cubes of ice so formed  i drop them into a highball, giving the cat and dog my love-flecked call, and etch my bones with your glassy possessive, and click on back in thin thin summer sandals to the underlying praise of the trees and lake, means and ways, where i drop a few cubes in your glass and one down the back of you shirt, yes, and next thing you know i got my flush to lay down by your bright and silver incredulous eyes, you with your hand of deuces... oh what a couple of fools, aces in love we made.