moisten

& the salt comes out slower
if you shake the shaker, dearest, & if
you stomp yr feet hard in the grass,
the trees might send down some more
fluffy seeds like snow so we can spin &
sweat & imagine it's winter.

i'm seeing everything through a veil of humidity -
you've got eyes like bogs &
fingers like seaweed & knees
made for knockin', & i think we should make out
in the library where it's tantalizingly cold
between the long disapproving
rows of darkly silent books.

are you paying attention? cuz really
what i'm trying to say is,
i'd like to give you mono.