strawberry ice-cream

her mouth is pink 
and sweet with cream 
and she offers up her secrets to me 
the promise engraved 
in the curl of her 
little finger. 

the attic is dark at the witching hour 
we are alone, and hiding laughter 
in the sticky-strawberry of our 
palms, and she waves her spoon, 
says, i want to stay here forever, 
and you say, me too. 

it is dark, and we are alone, and 
tomorrow we might hate each other 
(we turn on ourselves so quickly) 
but for now we're sharing 
the last bowl of homemade ice-cream 
she hid because strawberry's my favorite 
and it is cold 
and it is 
sweet. 

i let her feed me another bite.