Here.

This species of ivy is invasive, but we destroy ourselves over the love

we have for the 

way it climbs up the fences. Together, it has wrapped around my ankles and crawled up your 

thighs; 

we’re strangling in green ropes.

I deny wondering,

how we got trapped here but I’d love 

answers.

Here, there is a swing. Here,
there are groomed beds of dirt
we meant to plant vegetables in during the early spring, but it never happened. Here, there are bugs, but with you it’s disturbingly easy to just
ignore them.

The swing has been pulled by two rusty chains to the perfect height.
The dirt is fertile underneath a thin layer of twigs and
the bugs are
crawling between my toes.

But around all this, there are no trees.