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.
Youâ€™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 meâ€”the curve
of my ass, the spot between my neck
and clavicleâ€”for you to carry in your pockets.
You press hard into me as if burying me
in sandy loam the way youâ€™d bury a seed,
knowing Iâ€™ll push through toward any available light.