She laughs like a handful of raspberries:
Kiss me in the hollow of the mouse skulls
and we'll read goodnight from tea leaves

Let's take a walk in those woods of yours-- 
become smaller
and smaller until we can
meander underneath the wire-wings of 
burnt-auburn and beige leaves--
smell the rot of the forest
drip into our skin like
the nervous blushing of
the dew on the grass 
becoming December.
We collect the sound of each rustle
in the distance to make lockets--
you and I remember the feet
of the moths on the trees--
the knees of a cicadas bent
in August-- 
We keep raspberries in our
pockets--
make bracelets from the 
drosy dandy lions who forgot their
manes--
Oh I have crumpled up so 
many kisses on boy wrists
and the windowsill of a midnight.
beat me dead butterfly wing 
and your cheek bones
you peel off of a hyacinth--
Oh what I would have done
if I had know someone 
could laugh like a handful of raspberries--
I want to show you
where I used to sit in the grass
peel spearmint leaves off the bush behind my
house-- I want you to meet
the foxes and and feed them watermelon 
rind-- I'll teach you how I 
paint a sunset like a bruised knee--
pastel thumbs and sleeping
on a bed of spear mint so we
can make tea in the morning--
Hold me like a mug handle--
and we can steep in amber--
share the mint leaves-- 
one for you and one for me--
Your voice is like a tablespoon
of honey-- stir my hair like chestnuts
or the rustling of our lockets--
trade raspberries like nickles--
The mice will learn to leave their
skulls on the forest floor
for us to ramble through--
I don't want to kiss you
like another bruise or 
hold you only like a mug handle--
I want to kiss you like a handful
of raspberries 
in the summer in the hollow 
and the shadow of a mouse skull
where stop between
the layers and layers of leaves
stacked like tiramisu and 
dead butterfly wing--
I know I never kissed you before
but I know I have kissed
honey and 
I know I've kissed boys
and I hope you can forgive me
for all the pieces
of myself I've set in pressed 
flowers on the window still--
Let's take a walk in those
woods of yours-- our mugs
and our hands to hold
each other steady on wobbly 
stones-- the knuckles of the forest
King who waits over us both--
we laugh at him because
he thinks that we could ever fall
but we have each other to steady
our foot steps in the slippery
frost snapped morning--
We'll sleep in the rib cage of a deer--
brew tea with the nervous 
blush of dew as the sun plummets
heavy as a tablespoon of honey--
And you'll laugh like you always do
like raspberries--
We'll finish each other's mugs
and read stories from the patterns
in the leaves-- soaked silhouette of 
a mouse skeleton and the 
shadow of another elm tree on the
forest floor--
grow tall with me-- 
We'll escape from the bellies
of the leaves-- walk into the
midnight I tried to leave on a windowsill--
meet me there and we'll
sleep dangled in the rustling of
our lockets 
and the quiet laughter of 
spear mint 
and our silhouettes bruised into
the inside of a mug.