It took only his few words in sight,
tied together on specks of dust,
sent to me on the back of July’s
I stood as openly as my chest would allow,
reading his words from the hot pavement,
soaking in a fresh idea, feeling
settle deep in my ribs.
It is not an uncomfortable place for him,
unlike the others. He is a choice.
I gather his aromatic movement
like a lilac wedding bouquet and plant
his image between my special vessels
and skilled capillaries.
At first, years ago, when I kept my eyes
and cheeks naked, it
was not a choice. His parasitic words glued
themselves to my eager young ears, prepared to host.
Now though, his silvery voice is
a red sweet juice that saturates me,
and it took only his few words sprawled
in the hot July pavement,
“I think of you every day.”