her legs
smell like stale nylon
& thrush

i follow her skirt
through the city
because it makes sense
to me at the time.

you sit outside my window
smoking cigarettes
& swing swing
swinging
your feet:
they make the same sound
as a metaphor
each time they pass.

now you are climbing old
trees in the night
the bark moves like lips
underneath your fingers

kissing each branch
as you reach up

further & further
against the dark.