Apple Skins

If my body is a promise,
it’s one you’ll keep.

Sweet, like this,
my head under your
easy, like this,
your heart kissing
my ear.

And if we fit, it’s
because we were
cut from each other,
because we fed
each other, because
your lips still taste
like apple skins.

You hold me close,
and tight, and
warm – like you can
hear my bones
still thundering,
or taste the rain in
the air, like you want to
bring me home again,
like your body
is my own, tucked, and
pressed, and kept,
and whole.

(Thank God this is
our home…)


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