lying on rocks
our backs facing the cracked limestone below,
heat pressing through three shirts; one for you
another tight and practical, yet another loose and decorative;
Two out of three isn’t bad. I want it all. I only want to be with you
the moon above that keeps you coming back like a tide.
Sharp pain in my chest, a puffy nipple swollen from an inner tide
salt and water; or an addiction in retaining too much of a good thing.
I wonder often how much it would cost me to remove it