Shipwrecked in the Woods
We kiss and kiss and clumsy hands of thirteen
realizing that you – a girl – have tastes and smells
and wonderings where is the yesterday of running
trails of mud and grass, and never noticing the bugs
by the rusty tire laying in the shallow brook where we
rolled our pants and waded through murkiness until our
feet were numb.
You were never soft then
as you are just now.
Even when we touched then, pulling each up edges,
unaware of danger, of slipping or allowing the forest
to devour us as we munched blueberries from branches
while pretending boulders were ships and we were stranded
mid-ocean under sun and clouds and dreams and sometimes wishes.
But, now you are soft
and I kiss and kiss and kiss
And your mouth is sweet and warm and I, lost in something
new, and warmth as I want to push against you and disappear
and kiss and kiss.
(previously appeared in Because We Write)