"that summer you lay between my collar bones" (newest)

that summer you lay between my collar bones


you, the smell of potato rosemary bread
warm in my sheets baked
and twisted
like tiny whirlpools in the mattress
Maine in springs and foam

me, hands bathed in vanilla
extract and garlic still creeping
from my finger pads
orange rinds sleeping under my
nails to hold your soles to shoes

light honey-limps through the broke
glass pane taped with news print
we take turns reading the
stories aloud
april 14th 2003, same day
lasting forever (until it rains)
and that one story about the dog
and the house fire is always
our favorite