The Journey
by annie rink
(for Justin Prentice)

Lying beneath you,
your lips around my nipple,
I watch you float
beyond highways, hills, valleys,
a blindfold of fog over your eyes.
You’re leaving, catching the next train
to nowhere and everywhere,
a duffel bag, a bit of cash, and nothing else.
Propping yourself on your elbows,
you trace a circle on my stomach
with your fingertip, perhaps rummaging
through a special jar full of memories.
I want to give you bits of me—the curve
of my ass, the spot between my neck
and clavicle—for you to carry in your pockets.
You press hard into me as if burying me
in sandy loam the way you’d bury a seed,
knowing I’ll push through toward any available light.