I was born
thirsty for summer-
berries and honeycomb.
Feats often ending
in a bucket of ice;
stinger in heel;
red at the mouth.
You came like sweater weather;
that soft crunch beneath boot
that bright orange, rightside up
before the turn towards grey.
You were born
thirsty to take the knot from my breast
all milk kisses & lashes-
to chirrup my pitch and ease the tick
to tandem thumping betwixt my birdcage.
Someday you will smell like the Sun,
the space between wings of Living Things,
But for now, your crown is honey dripping
on blossom, on berry;
you bloom & burst ripe from my vine.
From birth to birth,
seasons side by side,
Milk Teeth quenched
on the refined palate
that bore us home.
*photo by Reka Emese on Tumbler