To Love You Dry

I’d lie there. Warm. Naked. Silent.
The raw stinging of the fading
green blades of grass has dulled
into a colorless sensation.
Even the ants have a lump of brown, wet earth, and
I do not know what sun-kissed means.
Sun-splintered, I do know,
and thighs, old from the
absence of wanting.
I know breasts, withered from
such a glorious ripening that even you
found your earth.
I know there is no arching
into the blue ether beyond,
only a leaning back. And
watching the ants crawl toward me.

(c) SeG