we were somewhere, and
you wore your summer skin:
brown, and heated
against my fingertips
the way your eyelashes fluttered
with my breath

i said,
oh
oh
no;
i said,

don't
worry, me
with my vain silk stockings,
the heels an inch too high
but wearing down
with your intentions -

and you pucker your lips;
like everything
you touch,
you wear me well.