On nights such as this

Both intimate and collective are our hands
                                    during the season
they hearten organs rapid in anticipation;
an allure of ignited fireflies multiply, where
the cheek grows an ideal flush in moments
where one nears ov         er joy.

The lovers tongue, expert and authentic,
               it flusters the length of the vine
               illumine, feather-soft, fragrant,

overturning everything. I just want to break
you down into the narcissus bloom, a tight
leaf unfurled like a boy in the backseat of
                                    his mothers sedan.

The sounds would impel across fields
in an array of lavender and thick silver
an orchid spun into the air, a window
moist with the breath

of night. Observing from the flowers,
we cup our palms in acquiescence,
           spit gratitude from the red of
                       the sweetened throat.