meet me
at a roof of an abandoned store. there, we will linger until the sinking of the sun, reddening the sky. we will watch the people below passing akin to a colony of weaver ants, eager to find something to relish.

hug me
tight with your arms as the sun, a zircon red, turns our bodies a luminary akin to a tribunal of fireflies.  we won’t let go until we see no flower bed of asters and we hear nothing but the singing of cicadas.

kiss me
on my lips, a soft ripe mango. lick them. bite them until they turn crimson. show them how your tongue resembles a slender snake as the mothers, down below us, watching, perform sign of the cross.