The Yard

I smell you.

Leather, oak, damp earth and crushed blackberry stains

between my fingers.

Salt water will wash it away.

The scent of you,

the sweat of you.

The white suckling calf at my fingers,

long, lolling tongue soaking the palm of my hand.

My red dress billowing,

brushing through the summer mud

with white fondant icing smeared down my front.

I don’t care.

I sweat you,

I scent you.

In the yard.