a noon we could not
repeat
we made a meal of guava
though neither
cared much to eat
thick-seeded
passion fruit slicked
from my chin
as you pressed your calm palm
and kissed the nectar there
we were walking the red road
southeast of the lava flow
northwest of the mango grove
where the trees are so thick,
they flirt to touch
high above
through all the winded wingtips
fighting for flight sounds
I tasted my name
in your mouth
followed your footfall again-
the way we played,
if you had asked me
then
I would have stayed.
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