Tuesday At The Cider Mill

I could bite into an apple,

And then run it down your summer-darkened shoulder

In a wet kiss.

I could trail my fingertips

Along your ribbed tank as if I were creeping through cat-tails

Like a black tabby.

I could fall in love with you

Any day of the week, as if your long hair were leaves

And I were the breeze.

Kiss me in October,

We'll buy a bag of donuts;

I'll give you my hoodie to wear

And my heart to keep,

When the days grow short

But no less warm for that.

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