I just found a hickory and a maple,
trunks grown together,
conjoined as lovers at their hips,
tension free from their backs
while the hands of their roots
clutch their subterranean buttocks
for decades of loamy passion.
For centuries they have thrived while
performing the rites of the living.
I see them, old beings
beaming their smiles at the sun,
inviting autumn’s must after months
of bringing elements to life.
Here, I remember the taste of your mouth.