It is getting dark, we walk
away from the couples, who, just like us
have not seen the sun go down
The picnic baskets are empty
You pack up the peels and I
pretend to look past you and you
pretend I don't attract
your attention, knowing that
our skin is glowing for more
You are smoothly sculpted
like a Greek god
I brush through your hair
The sea moans under the rocks
Our room is still far away
but I can imagine you
hanging out nicely, kneadable
in the grip of my hand
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 3:56 AM UTC
It is getting dark, we walk
away from the couples, who, just like us
have not seen the sun go down
The picnic baskets are empty
You pack up the peels and I
pretend to look past you and you
pretend I don't attract
your attention, knowing that
our skin is glowing for more
You are smoothly sculpted
like a Greek god
I brush through your hair
The sea moans under the rocks
Our room is still far away
but I can imagine you
hanging out nicely, kneadable
in the grip of my hand
