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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