July

You take your white dove off before

Climbing up into my green bed

We look at each other momentarily

Then we don’t. Play syncopated

Miming of two closer human beings

As something crawls out of our mouths

Nobody knows what we’re doing here

Performing rot in my lofted forest bed

We look past our shoulders flitting

Over a mirage of crescent moons

I find a shallow pocket in my heart

You have a doctor’s appointment

In the morning and I have nothing

I remind you where you parked