Taste

See her in the market. She has oranges in a basket. She doesn’t like oranges. Finds them sloppy. Overt. The sky goes glass again. He likes swimming, but she doesn’t know why. The looseness of feet at sea. Betrayals of hair. Can’t he see she’s on fire again. She knew it was your mouth she could taste on him.

In her Aunt’s garden, smells to distract her., her legs move slowly, crisscross the garden path. The fallen sunflowers, stalks broken under weight, drunk and huddled in the underbrush, know her, green as five o’clock shadow and despair. A shallow sleep tonight. A head thrown back to see the blank page ceiling. Sheets as binding. Pillows as other people as place settings. She can still taste your mouth.