The First Time We Had Sex, We Got Sweaty &

Megan Bell

We laughed. The sky fissured
with wet heat. A hot tongue.
Tonguing the inside of our heads. Am I correct
about the date? Every day
with you unfolds into the outlines of
origami animals taken apart. Yes, even
a few dogs. I need at least one around. Eyes
floating on the lake. Eyes filled with birds.
We are standing dripping
on the interstices of winter & spring. Comfortable
already, with silences. It took so long to arrive.
Our whole lives, even. Our whole bodies.
Climbing down a scaffolding of trauma.
Meeting up, with ideas. The same thing happening
on different planets.
There aren’t yet words. I’ve heard of this
happening before. A systemic synesthesia.
The way your presence
releases into my blood.
The only porn I watch anymore
is amateur stuff. Imagining our bodies
where their bodies are:​ wings
spread, visceral architecture
flooding, trying
to write down
how the smell of latex transforms
into coffee in the morning you made us — your hands
on my ass,
into the lilac bushes that grew
 next to each of our childhood homes.