six

The thinning arms of the moon

find me kissing the saltiness

of your neck. Drop by drop a small

sea gathers in the shoreline of

your hair. When night holds the heat

like asphalt, jealously keeping

what the day left behind. A finger

drags a line down your spine, cooling

in the breeze of my breath. A small comfort

under the ache of the trees listless with

the violent cry of the cicada's loneliness

.