With our bellies overturned
touching soft,
yellow milk dirt roads
and calamity turning foot
by cotton picking girls,
long, tall southwest dark-skin
whose red cherries shine as meat
picked clean from bone,
gorging themselves on the sound
Of the coming footfall, Carvin' out
such moments
'cross the kids on the side winding road.

we observe our hands turn in urgency
whose urgency suggested suspicion
fevers fortune broken heartlore.
Valentine, you were my best friend.
I'm a delicate looking boy, so were you.
never once did we come down,
and theres nothing to keep my foot from falling through