how the conversation might go

I would like to tell you
about how the purple flowering vine
clings to mortar
holding the bricks into a wall
as it climbs towards the sun,

but I’m  afraid
that if you stopped by my porch
for simple conversation
and a coffee

I’d say instead
how the tendrils
gripped the red-brown bricks
with little hairs, translucent,

tiny like the ones sprinkled
across the curve of your stomach
that only could be seen
from my head nestled there

in the afternoon light
dappling us through the lattice
as we cling to each other
on the double wedding ring
quilt spread carefully on the floor.