I keep drifting back
to the depth of the blue of your eyes,
the severity of your bangs,
your lean, firm form.
And when we hug
as acquaintances do, I feel
the effort of your head
turning aside,
while my hands linger
longer than custom's account.
And lying with you,
a few blades of grass between us,
sweating beneath
an inferno of Spring sun,
fiercer still
is the fire inside your ribs,
too hot to touch.