10/13/2025

There’s apple pie on the counter

and it smells like cinnamon and peat,

the leaves are falling and 

I remember what the cold feels like

and how your hair billowed behind you

when you bobbed into a water trough,

and just then you were contradictory:

a lit match ignited underwater, 

hot and cold or wet and dry,

I am terrified of you and

want nothing more than to be next to you. 

If I could sneak with you into a cornfield,

run until our legs are tired 

and the night sky is born again, 

a moment separate together,

rolling around the hay and the dirt

and fragments of brown husk,

to kiss you there where no one can see us,

to kiss you for an awfully long time

without ever saying a word,

I would.