Soft Burn (Woody Notes)

to sit

tracing curvature

from neck to roots

(your) fruit to (my) seed

is another kind of kissing lost

on our backs

to the city

is to sit

in your eyes

(science only goes so far as pointing out the exchange of DNA but you learn the words much faster because you see the flipping of their wings and from there, all knowledge ancient, airborne)

stars abound but in the earth

in a softer musky burn

dew condensing

blade by blade

on this floor you sit me

one thousand incenses

each spark

greener even

after rain

and before

we would have already forgotten

the several random fleeting thoughts

which once might be called cars.

I do not understand a single phrase

but your voice

much deeper than I imagined

verdigris

pulsating

deeper

against my left ear

now a limerent hand