Burning Hearts

From the woods. Crawling up and in and out your dress. To the ant the apples seen. One no longer with the clothesline. Painted hopping rabbits crescent moons. Blinking eyes and how I stood for noon. Thinking to the woods again so soon. The apple polished gleam, you think, perhaps. Fuzzy still the mustache. Mommy does she know and Daddy skilled. Or the skin before I could move aside the wrinkle tears. Burning hearts are fierce. Fixed relativity are your dreams, that with him. The laundry is I think in four not three dimensions. And that bashfulness. You smile from front to rear. I smile at you you think my smile. Where deep inside the bush there are to many. I wait upon the leaf outside then move alongside, a fictitious outline of your face from there to here.