Your fault
that it is so wet
to be me
yours is an existence who cannot
stop leaking
saturates me with the oils of skin and sound
salient sticky sharply - wet
pungent with the taste of lips
your hips against the insides of my thighs
I am floating I am doused and
dangling dripping drowning
I am soaked though
by the time you
let me wash back over you but still
my lips and tongue and tears
will never swell to tides
and you are heat, hidden
an oasis, water springing from the sand
quarry - deep in the desert’s core.
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