In Memory of Steven: The Kiss of Endymion by juliadebeauvoir

[cameron]

I slid under the vine,
crawled leaves dressed me
in beryl coats of Christmas,
your hand around my waist,
pressed me hard against clapboard,
and found the fluttering spine,
a hummingbird caught under palm.

My thighs nested amongst the prickers
as the thorns fell as silk,
spun nests of lichen and spiderwebs,
begged at our feet,
I could hardly hear them at all.

Slip behind the dark tents of hair,
shadowed nape of neck,
ruby throated,
concave under fingertips,
head tilted back as if to register
the weight of a grief
before your leaving.

My mother flicked the porch light on,
but in the spreading sun of bare bulb,
fire meted under glass,
you kissed me still.
Hawk Moths circled on one wing,
dancing on slats for the burning,
frenzied as the black June Bugs
smacked against the screen,
unreasonable and brave.

The sides of my tongue
lifted and quivered on
two elbows,
smelling summer rain,
all the unfurnished haunts in
my throat were filled up,
mistakes gulped back by
clouds of condensation,
our breath,
mingled with ivy.
I pulled you back to me while drowning,
but you turned to go,
for the full moon was impatient,
jealous for a covering like mine,
and paced for you outside.

juliadebeauvoir