Light on me
Swallow summer light -
the fruit juice that rolls down my
forearm, bangs pressed to forehead,
shine of sweat upper lip

the thickness of light;
the cottony strain from swallowing
the burnt sunshine late in the day,
a fat and ravenous glow.

You tattoo light on me,
tattoo words and thought,
make me want to whisper
your name against the breeze, let
it fade into distant car noise
and set in echo with the oncoming
of the velveteen night.

You lay yourself on top of me
like a quilt; scratch the patchwork
free of bone,

swallowing the day whole
keep it sweltering in my stomach,
fold myself above you, tongue in my
mouth, let you take it back
from me.