that summer we peeled our skin off and forgot our bodies / we talked about our boyfriend’s tongues / and butter knife fingered we took them in wet /
lily scented hands / and laid them out on our kitchen tables /
to know them outside of their jaws / to understand our own taste /
without having to bring it to our own mouths / without having to really know it / or to admit to the knowing
/ that summer you told me you shaved your pubic hair / lifting your leg up onto the bed
/ how the first time cut / the red and the red and the red / the water and skin
/ fifteen year olds then / beach-house light / the drive was long but there was liquor and no one asking so we gave in to the hour
/ passed the time forgetting every freckle on our shoulders / plucking the barbed down from our bodies / this new skin ceremonious and bled for /
gentle enough to not call pain / mac and cheese and chicken fingers / i think
/ but it is hard to know for sure now / you pull out a coffee thermos full of good liquor we mix with dollar soda
/ fluorescent bathroom / monkeys on the curtain / she takes her time with the glasses / while i lick the sprite off of my hand / while you play pink sugar and publix brand oregano off of your phone speaker
/ we say nothing
/ of the salt coiled in the dark / the figs rotting in the sink /
of our own tongues / safe within the tombs of our mouths / hardly notice when they touch /
nbsp; (what did you see on the beach that night)
/ the beast in black and teeth /
somewhere near 27th you can still find my arm sticking out of the sand at low tide / your tan legs in ponte vedra /
but we haven’t found them yet /
instead / in the marble and flicker of the light / we cut green apples / rub the skin on our necks /
sleep in the bathtub / ignore the moments of our skin / touching / take everything that hurts a little as a hint to keep going
/ but not this / not our own soft / too known / to kill / gently /
call our moms in the morning
/ hang up before they can ask
