"Spies"

“spies”

she drinks cider

while she paints;

apple cider from vermont

(i didn’t know they had apples

in vermont).

with each sip

her strokes grow looser;

the colors flowing across

the canvas

like a plague.

and i,

i drink rum

as i put pencil to paper,

dragging graphite

across the lines like

a cancer across skin.

curious,

we never peek

at each other’s work

until our tools

rest on the table.

but later,

we’ll be naked

and not hesitant to examine

the intricacies of each other’s soul

while the crickets

serenade the moon

with their beautiful,

beautiful songs.