FIRST FROST

Terrace, grapefruit sunshine, morning. Snowfall. You
Reach into my thoughts and pull it out. Cloud breaths.
Effortlessness. Because you're-- what? Burgeoning. Spilling
Forward like you're thinking that you're some kind
Of fruit, on the vine; thin skin; artificial; stretching self out
Into color like this is a 1950s movie. Spinning slowly.
Lay me under, roll me down.



acrostics