my chest thistling beneath you / my skin
           a chorus of panic and white coral

too easily I am frightened of my own desire

each breath / each unbound trumpet
is the smallest betrayal I can offer and so I do

           treachery is my hand on your hip
pulling you closer / a crisis snared

and you devouring my tendered secrets—
           I don’t want to be here

my eyes are closed and it’s October
there’s been a mistake / I’ve been lucky

my body has made it this far without me

lying with those bruised Michigan peaches
in the grass like we’ve given up