Rearview, upturn
green eyes, nose speckled
with sun kisses
planted chaste and
unassuming
Pores speak
of days
and months
and years
taffy weeks
in which you were
seldom slathered with white
seldom smoothed
with the sage-painted
thumb
of a mother who cared
Say that you
ran outside, spent your days
untamed, untethered
untended
That from May through September
live vanilla-flavored
memories
hands and fingers sticky
and sweet
dawn to dusk spent
rollicking
Say the past
clots in your subconscious, visits you
in dreams
I splay
my hand on yours atop
the gearshift, squeeze
Together, temperate
like fall
like spring
Ask did it sting
when they removed
the melanoma
last week?