To uncoil this muscle
aching to release,
let go this terror
and deliquesce into
chest and lip,
would break me.
You speak to me
and we are Vega
and Altair,
fingers falling once a week
in casual circumstance.
Let's go back to summer
when the air was warm
and we had nothing but time:
poetry over waves
and static, bedsheets.
Copyright 2009
Author's Bio: Tia enjoys earrings and writing in Texas, where the sun is hot enough to melt skin.
