sweet olive

climbing over slippery graves with you
and finding femurs,
eyeing
people's bones
felt like the ultimate harmless crime
 
under a yucky, dripping sky.
 
You taught me looking
deep into the ground
at someone's old hinges
is just as magic and secret
as blending my own brain in with the rain,
 
as delightful as  
spotting an outrageous afternoon rainbow
first,
 
and now there are ferns growing out of my crumbled mind
I try not to beg for you to  
peek behind.