: before we knew how they built skyscrapers

city unfolding
across my lap
wrinkled with use
and savory speech

we dine
in the prime
confines of fear
and fortune

we drink
at the dusk
of our prepubescent nights
windows open, shoes off

you're a firm believer in nostalgia
and that company keeps us
current and distracted while
we stay up, we stay out, then stay
late. we take care, we take more, then take
off.

will we remember the sentimental introduction
or only the new afterword?

: Ezra Blooms in July

I.
First, you get the sugar. It simmers around the edges, 
hot and sweet and smelling like fresh skin.  
When smooth, spread to coat.
You coat my self and we slide, slick confection.
This bakes and cools.

II.
Next, you get the flower. Tub of topsoil, blooming bathtub full of green, living earth.
We unearth each other, your eyes planted into the shelf under your deep brow.  
Your stare is oceanic and wide. 
This time I'm not afraid to dive.

III.
Then, you get the milk. It flows not freely, but with intention.
We surprise ourselves in summer's open oven, flesh reflected.

IV. A freshly baked good.