Ex Umbra

Standing in the grass,
the sun has already set. 
The pale purple 
the deep blue
is framed by your lashes.

We have already unfolded, 
panting from our cartwheels. 

You are exquisite. 
Everything you do, you do exquisitely. 

The stars have flattened into constellations,
into the symbol of all things exquisite. 

Of summertime: 
grass stained pants, blackberry pie, 
and lingering twilight. 

I would kiss you,
but Covid. 
I would kiss you, 
but you are you
and I am less then exquisite.