Spine in the grass

my spine is in the grass,

your weight on my hipbones

pushes me deeper

into the cooling ground.

i am suddenly

in service to no one.

stripped of stone and schedule

like climbing out of

a flying tin can’s seat

with a flourish

the air in between

unfurls its great velvet petals

and i diffuse outwards,

sweet and light as

pollen dust on the breeze

within minutes

we’d packed up our circus tent

and stare at the lifeless room

that was

holy of holies,

throne for every one of our vivid colors.

gone the soft toys, wings and bedouin rugs,

our dramatic constellations

now sit on the porch in bemused rows,

watching our replay in the stars,

the ballet of the bigger picture

did it all really happen?

like your hand on my thigh

as i drive you to the sea,

i pool my presence in its warmth,

cast in amber this last island of touch -

gone

like a dream fades in the morning