sharp faces
and the windcould feel each passing glance
I would not presume
your innocence
whenwe felt more alone than
anyone could ever be
and older than the dirtbetween our toes
when each moment slid painfully
across fleshybellies
rising and falling in euphoric guilt
we slipped across
themuddy rivers
braiding ourselves into the smell
of shade
and we promisedthe grass
and the stones and the sky
to stay the same forever
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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