I watched her move her calves and thighs, the trees

I watched her move her calves and thighs, the trees
stood in the dirt. A Spanish moss hung on
the branches like the sleeves of her thin dress
fell on her shoulders. When the water peeled

away from her it made a pattern in
my mind I won't forget. The canvas dress
absorbed the water, changed a darkened hue
as she submerged herself. She wears the words

I say like clothes, wherever that she goes
my song is on her; it sticks to her sides
and belly like an adhesive fabric,

I see the folds between her legs. The weight
of moisture shows her breasts to me without
her even knowing that it's happening.