(no subject)
My legs are down off the tree, over the water, as my fingers grasp a sip of your beer, canoes and sailboats sliding lapping down the lake. The sun is down, down, down over our shady blanket and a lone bird dances in our island branches. My bare skin feeds the insects. Water is solidifying into lights and stripes, she oozes quiet beneath oars, bagpipes at her back and silent ripples pulling her tail. Two, three bottles of wine and I can't drive. You turn off the lights and pull me across the bed, toward you and inside the mattress, sliding goosepimpled through the cotton feathers of the night.