Twice to be exact...
The first time was slow,
but not hesitant, deliberate.
Soft and pink I left my mark
on the plaid pattern and he held
me, our bodies washed in warm
shadows from a single flame
burning at both ends

The second time was quick
and messy, but we needed
each other more than we needed
clean more than we needed
perfect. I needed him, all of him,
and his soft edges not the
Instagram filtered version of
himself he showed the world.
And I needed to show him
the real me, raw and red

When I look back on that
summer all I see is him and red
I hope that he remembers
that summer as red as I do
and that red now somehow
feels like blue...
I stained his sheets and
he stained my summer,
with coffee and beer, with
grass and sand in my shoes.
With morning breath kisses,
And motorcycle fumes.
With salt water mixed with
my mascara: happy tears,
hot and burning red!