Under the willow tree, this little fish can breathe out of water. I sip on a cider and wonder when he leaves today with the empty bottles if he’ll ever come back with another.
And so there’s a rhythm to my heart at the moment, opening and closing like tired gills.
Opening with a calm pool of patience, when arms wrap around me and the sudden safety, the deep comfort, the belly of a double bass is teasing.
Closing with my lips pushed on yet another strangers when his kiss is a barely there, eyes over there, he could be anywhere type of revelation.
It’s a smack then a sigh, a hollow and a high.
And though the wind through the branches is a sweet lullaby as I stay awake, licking my fins, listening for his returning footsteps on the moist grass, I do hope he arrives with crates of apples. With time to sit with me discussing the fresh bubbles that will slither down our thirsty throats and the sweetness on our tongues as we watch them ferment together.
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