It is August and the skies are dark
with clouds full of remorse
and barely any cars on the road
I think sometimes she forgets
she is a four-leaf clover
in an empty field
My technicolor princess

I believe I have found my
other half
She slips like a whisper of warmth
inside my blood
On the bad days when I'm
tin-can empty and scrubbed clean
of resolve
she knows before I do

her touch feels like the dull
glaze of summer
all hot car tops and hot legs
glinting droplets of honey dripping
everywhere
dripping from her hands
and her chin
and the contours in her irises

Perhaps we were made
for each other
like vines entangling
like two sides of a coin
spinning endlessly
The Yin to my Yang