Spring Fever

Spring Fever

head tilted
slide horizon
tip toe puddles
It rained all April.
We climbed up a ladder,
tightly wound
like he slid into a hole
from the ground.
An envelope licked, held shut
we were close,
his hands drove down
a bare neck, a
soft shoulder
Molding clay,
softly rolled between the palms.
The chalky taste of the moon
caught in our throats.

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