Let Summer Lengthen Us

She leans toward me, not with urgency,

but with the anticipation of a fruit still green in shade.

The world demands speed—apps decide desire before hands even brush,

and artificial sighs pretend to know our lust.

Yet not her gaze.

The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree:

Persimmon, walnut, loquat, fig, and grape.

My name lingers on her tongue,

a slow ripening I ache to taste.

To rush would sour us; to wait allows the air between us

to sweeten with possibility, like summer lengthening its magic.

Her laughter moves like honey across the day,

unmeasured, unstolen.

In her silence, I learn patience:

how to touch without taking,

how to listen without caressing,

how to be wholly present.

She’s my orchard and evening, unfolding in time’s own rhythm.

And I, resisting the world’s hunger for speed,

surrender instead to ripening with her.