A tier of noonday sun pinned down
magnolia boughs breaking
through the glass,
claret glow scorched sweat back
into your skin, much like an omen
cinched to lips on the smattering
of proverbial conversations.
How you crossed the length of
my stirring in tall, slow steps,
bone-girdled on the bulbous sack
of the lunch-hour's long giraffe-tongue.