Heart is bristled bark
beside stark, unearthly
chalk
of burnt-out embers.
Did you not enjoy the flames?
Dusky dance of campfire games.
Yes, summer scorched us
red raw, and stung by your
touch
I shed skin like leaves.
Tongues congealed in sticky knots.
Skin aflame like sun-kissed rocks.
I remember this:
pillow talk shorn of
substance
since that soft, spring
dawn.
Oh, I would not be so sure.
We were. Dare you ask for more?
