The Field in a Closet

The electric fence
Between our eyes
Repels my gaze.

If I were dew,
I could reach your humid lips
and bring rain to your tongue.

The trees would mistake us for wildflowers.
Tangled stems,
Petals unfolding in a naked touch of light.

How do we grow here?
Purple-headed thistles
In a tender-footed world.