end of summer love letter
When I explore your body, I get lost in a library of time stored on shelves- 16 hour bus rides, 9 years worth of longing. Longing for your touch like a tea pot tipping, waiting for the water to land. A cup of coffee sat on a counter getting cold, our story put on hold, brought back to life years later. We’ve blown off the dust, and the story has matured. In a field your freckles are stars in the sky, tiny city lights that can only be seen from the top of a hill. Since August 2006, an apple seed has become an orchard.
On my skin you drew rivers and roads with your fingers. You found the route to my heart and made a nest, reminding me that life is very fragile, that we are just birds looking for a home. Nine years makes us as vast as the ocean, yet we are as intricate as the little lines on a map, branches in a forest, veins in a finger. Your touch is hot coffee mixing in with the cream.
I’ve felt you pull my hips to yours, and I have felt you deep inside me, but I have also