I've seen those fishnets in your closet.
The one the post worker hand delivered
a parcel to match your brown eyes.
When they grip your torso
squeezing grapefruit passions
and juicing my loins.
We'll huddle under pines
shining flecks of mica in red Georgia clay
Sticks, needles, dry rope
the green tomato seeds in my eyes
that fall like lollipops
on your cheeks
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