The sun is setting from her terrace the color of tomatoes. Inside her clothes is her body and inside her body is another body that is a smile not shaped like a smile but shaped exactly like the inside of her body so happy to be with you.

Like dripping water nonstop from the fountain, your golden light is coming all over the place. All over the place is this: her not knowing anything but you.

Her skinned animal life hangs over your sink. When the clock strikes eight sobs for your parting, it's no longer nameless what she longs for. Sometimes it's a boat; sometimes she's a dragonfly. Sometimes you're a suntan lotion traveler, sometimes plums.