Bushes bred in perfect rows.
You asked me to sit next to you, so I did. I held your legs over my lap, traced lines with my fingers down the undersides of your thighs—down to your bare feet.
And blue could be black if I wanted it to be.
And smoke could be somewhere if I concentrated.
You smelled of blackberries and thunderstorms.
I pulled you close to me on the bed, held you against my chest, until we were the only sound in the room.
Then, we ate.