In the Woods

I knew
I had to memorize
the way it felt
for you to help me
untuck your shirt
so I could thread my arms
around your waist—
my open hands
reading the smooth
braille of your skin—
and I found a warmth
so tender I shivered
to think such a heat
extended into parts
of you I’d never find
or feel—
and the sycamores
along the river
were the only trees
to take an interest
in our bittersweet union
because they lived
unapologetically
with their white skin
glowing and exposed
and they couldn’t
understand our layers
or why we thought
we had so much to hide.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
1-4-17

 

 

 

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