pieces of a poem

btwn yr smooth folded fingers, tan from sailing
would you press that sprig of basil behind my ear
like some proud brown youth, golden oiled skin
smelling like honey, licorice vapors + sun
so i move through tavernas yr boy,
hear the songs strummed + that amethyst in my pocket pressing up against my thigh
could i move nobly,
my muscles lithe aching remembering some
kouros rites wood hard against my knees
leather knots + olive trees