The form her body was was not that hard

The form her body was was not that hard,
the iris of her eye was like a wet
pool that mirrored me. The fresh and wet
cut grass stuck to my feet, the warm and hard

pavement sweated summer. I pushed hard
into the mud, pulled her through the wet
of afternoon into the house. The wetness
of rain was in her clothes. I kissed her hard

and put my hand inside her dress—the sex
the clouds have with the earth through rain—my mouth
was on her body everywhere asleep

and dreaming. The sweaty and maddened sex
we wrought I still can taste upon my mouth
and is what finally puts me to sleep.