An apple seed is stuck to a midnight tree
branch. It swells and seeps red honey,
sticks close to trunk-hollow and bird’s nest.
What I mean by this is I love you.
Your hands, tenderly cupped around a runaway
toad from the neighbor’s garage sale, rest
white and pale under my late grandmother’s
engagement ring. We are always the last to call our parents.
Come sit with me. Let’s watch the old men
gape at each other over eighty years of tooth
and earpiece. You say you’ll never let me lose
my mouth.
Fruit decomposes under pressure;
I melt myself with decisions. See gray
bird and yellow stone combine. See
them kiss.
