the windows were down the day
you found me opened splayed
like the figs on the glass plate in front of me
ripening sweetening my bloodstream

and it was a humid June night when the lilies
shadowed your jaw when I crawled into the forest
of your ribcage when the ceroid cacti bloomed
in a southern desert and our frozen waters
cracked
collided
when I learned my hand feels foreign in my own hand

and still now sap drips down your face
gnats stick to our sweaty cheeks braided
in our hair during summer drought
and then there is after:

we cut a hole in the adobe roof
our legs intertwined
while the night sits
green
my belly burning red
wet fruit dampening
my palms