crickets send condolences / mimic the song that played / in the backseat when bedrooms / weren’t private enough / when dirt tracks stretched out / like unspeakable proverbs / as bells chimed blue-movie / melodies / averting their gaze / as we plucked / forget-me-nots with kisses / & sucked honey from the suckle / as if it were our last meal / as if the forest / would swallow us up / crippling us in tremors / of adolescent soil.

Dew moistens our clasp / your roots unknot from mine / I hear the sound of tearing / as the morning dawns red.

^{Image by Addison Williams}