Wisteria-like, you wind your fingers,
strong as a newborn,
across my chest. I wanted you
from the morning I watched your irises
slide beneath their Atlantic blue
to a gray-dappled horse
in my recurring dream.
Your tongue flicks smartly
as the garter snakes, sunning deftly
along my basement bricks.
So, my lashes drowse heavy
with the cottony lust of a first girl-
archaic; smeared in charcoal;
blazoned brighter beneath cinders