Inhibited Afternoon
She had short fingernails.
Too short to be stained black
by stagnating berry juice.
The fruit were at soul depth,
as ancient as her eyes,
where life was an eternity,
a discourse of unions -
encircled friendships. Amongst fallen
houses, corrugated shutters,
were the pathless gardens.
We harvested twelve months
together: wandered through lost
pleasures that our stained
or stainless hands concealed.