cobalt

If I summon you here, the thought is
you here, forward come here now,
to this porch swing, static, rolling by
(eight pots of flowers that I cannot identify,
flanking my sides), and this bulging, shadowy maple, shaking
over my head, to this grassy slope,

your image, that is you,

if not in person than in my image,

you are lying on the grass bed, draping
across a dandelion, digging your heels into the soil,

mysterious woman/ gold woman, you drive
your car in a circle, you smash your wine glasses,
you rip your shirts, and pieces of you are cutting my mind,

gold woman,
you dip your chipped nail toe in the lake, swim, you
pray in the chapel, your skirt tickles the fuzz on
your thighs, sleepy, sleepy,
put your hair behind you,

shift your melon summer sun dress, and as you roll,
feel your braless breasts turn, grazing the inside of the
fabric, and we,

the plants and I peer down your neck and past
your armpit to snatch/ to fleeting glance,
the color of your skin, the curve of your cup,
the color of your nipple crowned neath the cotton
surface of your dress, your
melon sun summer dress, clinging to perspiration
on your fuzz legs, in summer speed and sweat.