Fields Of It

She slips into my dreams and gathers stalks
of lavender into her arms.
I ask her where the fields are,
but she doesn’t answer.
The petals crushed under her nails come to life,
so tender and new,
waving in the wind like a white flag
there is no answer for.
We say nothing.
And the day is mild,
and the skies are clear,
and suddenly, there’s only lavender.
It wraps itself around us
until her mouth curves so sweetly
I can see the fields between her teeth
– the gentle undulation of her tongue
under the sun, that still calls to me.

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