Two hearts,
throbbing,
beneath this oceanic blanket

of leaves.
A purple estuary
like branches

among the heron’s beak.
In the coyote’s fur
are the arrows

of tears.
He ascends
the morning cloud

of Eucalyptus
and sweat.
Fingers burning,

the sword
penetrating,
the scent

of the wet
Moss and creek
crossing the white dress

that is like the caress
of his tongue
inside my throat,

in my lungs.
I break
a blue bottle

before his eyes.
Before my eyes
he dissolves.

We kiss
our strawberry plants
and form a vine

beside a pond
full of a peach
flavored sky.

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