what else can I tell you?
I was a summer of disproportionate
elation the one dressed
in great swathes of colour so
pleasing to touch it was me
who under the brush
of untroubled fingers moved
to sway as tree-tops tease
the feet of sky and in that great
belt of nothingness I was
everything you tried to grasp
the stretch of hand the
arc of want it was me
that season of warm baths of sunlight
you'd sink in up to your neck
unhurried unhungry
you wrote it all
in my skin you
came back
to read to ask
that was then.
Really lovely.
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