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.
Passive Architect 