First poem I ever turned in for poetry class

I like it when your hands are cooking

I like it when

your hands are

cooking

and your fingers

are moist

lightly with the

oils from our

spicebushes,

last year.

I like how your

breath smells of

Mexico

and of the days before

velcro and silica

taught our muscles

to contract.

I like how

your eyelashes

collapse

like mint leaves

in autumn.

I like how

you smile,

heavily.

10/08/09

4:23 AM--June 15th, 2010