the warm disturbance //  ( A Villanelle-inspired poem)

this is our summer: bright and warm

we are idle and no one can meddle

with us and disturb

our thoughts and coil

our brilliant stars inside. watch

us grow and inside—together—bloom

our succulents and cacti bloom

the pink-lilac sunrise and tea all warm

your head against mine, “watch”

perpetual summer days no one can disturb

with and no arrangement or events that coil

our perfect existence; no one to ruin summer and disturb

us and tell us, “don’t watch”

because we know we can bloom

under this arid house that coil

us with so many lies; our warm

loving hands are all we need to escape this disturb,

this trouble, this harsh, this doom—just watch

you and me. we dare watch

this universe, the cosmos inside us disturb

the woven fabric of our excited senses meddle

with the seeds of love bloom

inside red and warm

tightly like an endless staircase where we coil

deep inside all our emotions and crave more of this coil

it doesn’t have to end, you say, watch

you hold my hand—it’s nice; the warm

has always been you: the big disturbance the one who disturbs

and melts me into putty and builds me a child’s sandcastle that blooms

for one day to only erect proudly for memories that later meddle

with a decade long narrative of who or what could meddle

with the snake entanglement of memories that always coil

the blend of fiction and fantasy: the birth of a fictions' bloom

it’s summer but words fail and all that is uttered is, “watch”

because this time these memories will disturb

us when we think back to the summer of warm

when we bloom, you say, watch

how our crossed stars meddle with our summer and coil

and disturb the stars and the sunset and the beach we no longer find warm.