H.

with him...i talked of sickles

with you...i want the pitchfork

airate me...like that clay colored soil under those green trees that remind me of your underbrush eyes

eyes that i desperately need on me

kiss me under those stars...stars like the million promises we were both promised

i'll keep them for you...in the sky, as i reminder of what i can hold onto for you

of you

you are a man.

and i am a sorry excuse for a keeper of your stars...
let me keep them anyway

stride with me
you
i
it
will grow

and we shall toast triumphantly, the fruit of our labor

and i'll just bet...it will taste sweeter
under promised stars