Crossing the vast expanse of grass
at recess to ivy covered fences,
we'd stand strangely focused
for an hour on the details
of the flowers on the vine.
Pulling the pistil down
through the stem, we'd taste
the honey, a single drop drawn
from each blossom,

then race each other back

past the swings and climbing ropes
to the red brick building.
We'd laugh, panting, faces flushed
while scents of grass stains,
sweat and honeysuckle rose
up from our young skin, hot
like the sun that beat down on us
at noon in that open field.