Cicada

 In August I shed with him, layers

of clothing.  I slipped into the pond,

and noticed the peach sky. Cicadas

only have beaks that suck for food,

but I kissed his lips when he told
me that he's a cicada.  I wanted him 

to be sincere, but he molted again

and again, green to brown to green.

I collected his shells and I lined my
windows, but I could not pin his wings.