Floridian
There were snakes coiled at the steps of the fountain of youth—
and spiders, concaved,
springing spookily into the loosening curl of my hair,
the humidity was such
that wayward Grecian soldiers fainted
straight away, and the swamp
called out, echoing catcalls
all night from the mechanical
motel rooms, the box tv sets,
the roaring rush of the shower
pipes aching back to life
in the sticky heat,
cranefly's died on the windowsill, and
we spoke of Oregon, of learning to ski
in jeans, for the first time, shivering,
white with cold, sixteen and dirt poor,
the first pair of tennis shoes bought
by grandfather in fourth grade,
I told him that his entire face changed
when he spoke of that time, and he gazed at my
skin, said it was beautiful, ran his fingertips
down my body
slowly,
outside the night was warmish green,
the soft aquatic shadow of the pool lingering
overhead, like falling asleep inside
the dusty animation of a childhood film,
I waited for you to curve your face to me,
waited for you to say the word,
mid-sentence,
this moment, a monument
unbroken by the stretch of time.