our ***
is how it feels to be a skipping stone

at first, cool to touch
and level
then dripping with
the sweat of the sea. it is loving without concern

that the love will become
too important,

loving
at dusk

swollen lips, red like they are blushing

sunset dyeing the sky scarlet
like it is blushing

he gets under my skin
where the flesh is so pink, it looks like i am
blushing –


          small strawberry pores.

still, my head
stays above the water

it just hits me hard and i swallow
waves
of salt.

lingerie lace constricts my hips like seaweed
it is exhausting to love him
the way i do,
my breath moves
wind through his hair
and i pant oceans into his chest.

he must feel
my eyelids flutter

in an ache
to be opened into a path, the trail from
body to body to

     shared dampness
         shared passage across it

              the skipping stones
feel plush
if i want it hard enough
caressing the body of water.

quietly
learning to let my heart rest, but never my
thighs

his remains on my stomach
like wax.