With Altitude

 

 

I am a teenager
for the first time,
again
Out here —
a ripe mango
in the wild


I left on a Friday
By Saturday I was pumped full
With altitude
With air
With a delirious appetite


I imagined myself
floating above him
Like I did when we first met
in his truck, at the lake
On the roadside
At the ocean
Wild


My hair licking him clean
His hands,
two hands,
both hands —
All hands
on my hips


Before he knew it was my weakness
my undoing
I ached for him
like
a teenager
Again
with visions of movies
and stars
to hang my lust upon


We moved like music
all waves and electricity
The outside of him
inside
me.

 

 

Batch Craft

Crafted + Curated with Love + OCD