These days tomorrow’s seasons take me so suddenly
One square inch of salty bare skin
Exposed through the hole of a sleeve,
Accidental promises made in the lingering glow of dusk;
Your prophecies of a dusty summer shed,
Green apple shade,
Grass stains like two thumb-prints pressed on my knees,
Your hands around my waist like an hourglass.
Shall we dance this Louis Armstrong ballad slowly
And pretend that long hours stretch long wings
With all the soft skill to cradle us
Long after the sun has made its final descent?