That day, the air
a lavender breeze stroking
the neck of a woman. The woman,
a flower on the summer lawn. The
lawn, needled and bending
into the soil. The soil, a sponge
waiting for the moisture of love.
Love, which is hanging, an unpicked
apple on a nearby branch. The branch,
arced out like an arm stretching
out to the man. The man, who
is walking to the woman who
is waiting for him in the lavender air.