Edit 6: Longing

[Leanne]

Longing 

Cicadas sung the honest words that two -- I really like the sussurations in these opening lines.  Very quiet and relaxing.
familiar strangers smothered with esprit -- smothered may not be the best word choice here.  Despite the alliteration, it actually seems quite harsh, probably the -ed sound.
and games, to us in soothing secrecy. 
It wasn't through a golden shaft but through 
our shade of sycamore and winds we blew, -- if I were you I'd re-examine the punctuation here, because it gets a bit tricky to follow.  This comma seems like it should be a semi-colon, for example, but then you've got the semi-colon later and it's all messed up.
the two mistook the speaking chances we 
aroused, for clay; but through their artistry 
I sense those words belong to me and you. 
 
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again -- "O, how I wish" -- such filler, such cliche.  You only have a few lines to work with, so wasting them like this is dreadful.
for answers I would wonder of until -- this line, too, seems wasteful and redundant.
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek 
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin -- nice imagery, really good for the volta.  In fact, I wish these lines were your openers for the sextet, slightly reworked, to give the right amount of contrast.
and joke under the shade. When we are still, -- "joke under" throws me out of the piece, with its harsh tones.  Perhaps "laugh beneath"?
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.  -- I am not getting a strong close from this line.  I think the idea is right but the execution needs work. "and then" is again quite a filler.

Second Draft: Longing

Cicadas sing the honest words that two 
familiar strangers smother with esprit, 
to both of us in soothing secrecy. 
It isn't through a cithara but through 
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew, 
the two misapprehend the chances we 
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry 
I sense those words belong to me and you. 
 
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again 
for answers I would contemplate until 
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek 
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin 
and joke under the shade. When we are still, 
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak. 

First Draft: Longing 
 
Cicadas sing the artless words that two 
familiar strangers stifle with esprit, 
to both of us in soothing secrecy. 
It isn't through a cithara but through 
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we 
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry 
I sense those artless words belong to you 
 
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again 
for answers we would contemplate until
we rot alone into ourselves. And then 
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek 
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill. 
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak.