Porch Swing Lament

Cortney Ives
i'm thinking of summer
sweet grass on fire
and swift little songs
that sigh against my thighs
i'm dreaming forever
into the vaporial air
watching the steam
from the black top rise
it's a sick little sadness
that nestles inside
the tissues of a
rusty, rose heart
if you were a slow song
like the way the hills rise
i'd sway until sickness
woke to piece me apart