Snap-peas and table-talk

I crave moments not
of cut gemstone

but of pressed linens;

of starched comfort
seducing frayed nerves

with blessedly cool

mint-on-the-tongue static cling.

tell me when you get there –

to that cramped kitchen

the ceilings too high

the walls too plastered with nonsense

poster children

scattered images

framed words we talk of maybe love

snap peas on the table

we’re all too sweaty

but the night air needs our tepid flesh

craves our sticky pores

riled hair

creased knees that collect perspiration

tsunamis between our joints.

we’ll rest here a while

collect the day tomorrow

and speak wonders in between