Skin pulled taught by the August sun

Fingers pruned and hair still damp

I stalled pushing the dirt caked driveway

Around with my toes

Two hours spent peeling the boiled jackets off peaches

Chopping, scraping, drowning fruits in ice

When did the afternoon slip behind the trees?

You bent my arm toward your mouth

Licked the juice from elbow to wrist

And I’ve never envied cicadas less

For being able to molt their shells

Leave the husk of an old life decaying in the grass

Tymbals searching for a love like ours