I.
humming city lights soften sounds of cicadas
mimicking and muffling rapid hearts.
fingers dance and pull the since-dried grass
gently enough to leave it rooted.
a subconscious curiosity,
is this voice too loud?
II.
an acoustic in-between swells and swallows
quietly in soft synchronization.
braided grass looks like woven hair as
wilted earth whispers in careful quartz.
mellow elation wraps into wind
the way thoughts intertwine.
III.
giggle ridden grin glows in girlish ways–
blushed, barely hidden by fallen light.
laughter tastes like savored honey and
hangs on tongues like halcyon happenstance.
bared teeth illuminate dimpled skin
and ask for more time.
IV.
will there be more time?
Porcelain Prose 