in the dark – April Michelle Bratten
The country is so noisy at midnight—summer grasses
in her voice, storm scent in the little hairs on her arms,
imploring me to trust. I want to trust, to allow our home-
sick bodies to press delicately into the pitch, to locate
a small universe in her panties. A nudge at the rim,
a sleepy hand seeking over the bramble.
I could never cry in this place. The sounds you hear
are the trees exhaling; us, humming the black sky.
Your season is safe in my mouth, and I am the opposite
of a river. I want to trust in trust. The way she opens
her edges a little further for me.
Her taste, green in the dark.