the eyelash in my tongue's left lid
opens a neon forest in your left shoulder blade.

we both heap our rag bodies into the brightness.
we both have a night's worth of poolside kisses
stored up in our first set of stomachs.

the eyelash in my tongue's left lid
left me here, praying to the wing under your collar
for the whipped honey under your skirt
as if a subway breeze
were cleansed with water

my love
your hair is the only breeze
where the snare drum hits