i stroke my own hair,
and it sends shivers down my spine.
i run my hand over my own skin,
and i feel gentle touch
more than i feel flesh beneath my fingertips.
my body is priming itself for love.

we are both fantasizing about watching the stars.
i plan to take him down to the lake late at night.
no one will be around to chastise us
for sneaking onto one of the docks
meant only for private use.
what we are doing will be private, anyway.

we will gaze across the placid water,
illuminated only by the the moon,
engorged and hanging low in the sky.
we will lie back and count stars,
fingers entwined.
maybe i will get him to speak danish
and there will be no sound
save for soft words
in his mother tongue.
i will lie there
and i will wonder
how i ever
lived without this.

you tell me that you grew up
in a hundred degrees of heat
all year round as i describe to you what it feels like to be cold
and the jacket of snow that
continues to weigh down the
evergreen branches
you realize that you’ll be utterly
freezing when you come up here
to see me one of these days
and what i don’t tell you is that
you won’t be cold at all because
i’d sooner die than let jack frost lay one of his mischievous little fingers
on your beautiful and eternally
sun kissed skin

stomach acid doesn’t taste so good.
who knew i could ever feel this way?
all-consuming and never-ending,
all i can see is green.

smoke and mirrors, lovers’ whispers
i should really go, but here i stay
all-consuming and never-ending
all i want to do is scream.

pounding hearts and anxious bodies
sweat and breath, distorted melodies
watching from the bushes thinking
who could ever ask for more?

picture-perfect, close caresses
throw me in the dark and lose the key
all-consuming and never-ending
i guess that it could be worse.