Today there is:
the smell of dough and heat, a rising
the sound of that lovin’ feelin’ first heard on the fizz of a cassette tape; first recorded in the first years of their marriage, years before a child would find herself enamored of a voice, the first flush and flutter
the feel of the edge of surfaces: of denim, of air, of the edge of this skin, meanwhile it’s thickness pressing against
the sight beside―a jawline three days unshaven, neck newly tanned as it will be now until it wears away again, till November casts its pall over―for all that, just so, today! The heat has burnt and still, burning! Today it is―
the taste of the curve, salted and scrape,
the taste of heat, a rising―
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