another May, as in asking permission up in the hills again where small green things sprout & i dip beneath shining webs to preserve a spider’s hard work. the hottest day so far - a group of shirtless teenagers in the road point at a snake curled on the asphalt & bathing in sun, & i drive home to text my friend about his newly shaved face - cheeks & chin & upper lip ready for reacquaintance with the sun, wind, pollen of the flowering desert.
then night, i am sweetest with a little bit of vanilla vodka & a chain necklace, offering my lip balm to the man behind me in line for the gay bar bathroom & asking about his love while he can only think of my body in snapshots on the internet. still, i love him for it, love every drunk & horny stranger here, even the one snaking his arm around my neck.
even later, when my heart beats out the alcohol, i dream horribly of things i don’t want to say: creatures hungry & undulating & feeding on each other while i watch them & give them names.
then wake up to you, May, where the trees are green again & the week rests ahead like a field of common yarrow.
