Clink your skull against my skull.
Tulip glasses in the fog at a winery.
The pale white of a wedding dress–
you wouldn’t call me Western,
would you? I’m warm at the brain
center. Leave your soft red mark
on my red mark so we can walk
slowly in the grass toward the fence
that keeps a single deciduous tree
beside the blue barn where chickens
are kept against their wild wills.

(originally published in impspired, Fall 2021)