BFF

You are the yellow spring sun
on fresh yellow-green grass,
virgin grass that is studded
with white and blue flowers
and has not been mowed
ever.

You are the smell of
good dirt (but all dirt
is good dirt) freshly turned and
drying in the lazy sun.

You are sun-ripened tomatoes
straight from the vine
warm and firm
loaded with salt and pepper
with a good tall glass of tea
so sweet it could put you in
a coma.

You are the porch swing covered in
pine pollen and
tree sex
that creaks a familiar
squeaky protest
against my weight.

You are inch worms
bright green and brown
dangling from the trees,
suspended on
gossamer threads and
measuring the length
of my arm.

You are the first warm rain
of the spring time
that freshens the earth and
ushers in the brand new
barefoot season.

You are a chilled melon
on a scorchingly hot day
with sugar and spice but
really just salt that puckers my
tongue while the cold juices
run down.

You are the moon shine on
new leaves in my
back yard while the
crickets sing all night
long.

You are everything we almost
and nothing we never and
all the stuff in between.