We dreamt in green
–  in honeydew.

The drip and drop
–  of succulence swelled
–     to bursting,
to oceans of sky in blue.

In beating and thrum
–  red with iron,
heart and wings
–  rooted through

teeth and tongues
–  that spoke
life and longing in verse,

that tasted sweetness
–  swelling
in peaches in berries
–  on branch and thorny vine

which pricked
–  in steady ferocity

at the tips
–  of tingling fingers
–     that reached
that sought to touch

empty space
where we would never be.