Where is the place

I can eat a RIPE watermelon

lay in grass that tickles my thighs

expose my skin (not all bare) to the sun

watch orange milkweeds and dandelions

couple with wind

until I laugh like a child

in rolling prairies of green

mimic a bird from two puckered lips

pluck a long stem of grass

to twirl between fingers


nothing else

but swatting flies

wiping watermelon juice

from your chin

skinny dipping in the lake

and holding you close

with no one else watching

how free I become



Β© Tammy Mezera 2015

(older poetry revised)