The Peach Below

See the mist spray our sleep,
parting water like a miracle of Canaan
and cleaving us asunder and yet together.
There are those who lie still
but never you.

The rock soothes the peach below
then cuts like a knife,
making
my girl petals flood like rain.

Weak shadows, bitter and envious
chant the sweet red bone
symphony like raw juice,
sowing angst and anger like a summer storm.

How the leaves
breed moon recall,
and
elaborate boy dreams of love,
are fast shows that taste on our tongues
like
delicious purple Popsicles.

Watch out
when the light sprays above, but
a cool skin
soothes.

Let those who have me, void the savage,
and fall easy within the whisper
of I and sky,
then ask, after wanting
white skin and red gash,
whether it is a dream or a whisper of white.