poem: pondside

your wasp tattoo, pressed against my lips, 

tanned hips hidden in the rolling grass, 

the wind draws watercolours like palm lines across our skin.

we are pond side, buzzing mosquitos our anxieties –

but we pay them no mind, curled in the summer heat.

your body against mine like an epilogue.

unsaid words form sermons,

beating just underneath our chests;

you press two fingers against my ribs,

reading these thrumming prayers.

you can sink into me,

bury your lifelines into mine. 

if you’re afraid, 

then so am i.

could we follow the rolling train,

its whistling song into the night. 

  • run somewhere,

so we never have to be afraid again.