I remember standing in your driveway half concealed by the floral burnt amber hues of the evening just moments before we touched.
I remember then…, well within the hour in-which you finally kissed me, how the distracted suburban ghost of your eyes; creased by our hesitations, devoured the indolent push of the moon…,
tempting my sin,
as things of beauty often do.
When beneath my feet.
A teal insecurity…, flowering from the billowing folds of a dogwood fog; consuming the hazy-blue echoes of our back-page town,
broke upon the up-swelled spine of an Van Gogh yellow breeze…, and a scarlet mid-
night silked highlight slowed our guarded movements in…. When then…! you touched my face.