waking up with zander

i feel rootless from end to end in sheets of something like steam, but cooler. on Sunday morning (and i'm leaving today) but i'm someplace... someplace between sleep and slithering toawrds the road where the car is picking me up. i forget my jacket (it's cold for august) and i unzip the tent and see himfixed, twisted in duvets And dozing and his eyes barley open (like slits in soft melon.) I turn into him and the comforters (but the car should be here soon to take me back to new york) and i entwine, his arm in mine, flounce back his blonde, and with my all tender want to stay. kiss you. it's to leaving and the morning and to the summer. not a kiss goodbye, even. one that i had been storing up.and you turn at the sound the car honking.

all four winds hit us.
consequence as we part the moment and the month of august.