He Is Allergic To Peanuts

We cooked, cooked together
smashed meat with boulders and fried it
on rocks. We drilled into eggs and
drank the yolk from it’s own shell.

We smiled at each other with leftovers
in our teeth…

I grated peanuts into piles of peanut dust behind my back, while
he played a song that
reminded him of me.

The music tickled on and he sang
and we sang together. We danced and we
danced together.
To the piano, we were not graceful
but the drums could tell we that we were delicate
and practiced; together.

My hand clutched the peanut dust tightly as
he held, held tightly onto my waist.
He spun me around to
face him, our eyes met.

He closed his eyes, we closed them together.
He leaned in to kiss me.
I leaned my lips to my hand and blew, blew
the dust in his face.

He was stunned – breathless. Choking, he fell to the floor, tears
puddling in his eyes and he cried,
we cried together.