On What You Are


you are calloused hands and tangled curls
long drive one lane roads home
burnt timber, wood fire stove
cast iron skillets and always never always already home
you are shallow creek bed, cold feet, and my pale thighs
barefoot walks, lied down and held tight
and thin fish against my palms
ear lobes pressed in finger tips and rushed breath
you taste like tequila
taste like morning
taste like salt when I lick your shoulders
you are cotton quilts and rug burn and old window woodscape with smoked sky
cornmeal trout and cups of coffee
hands on my thighs
dark road, whiskey drunk, jukebox love

breath held while she drives

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