: 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.