A quiet, smallwooden dock,rough with wear,overlooks aneven quieterlake.Dragonflies hover,making loveor offspringmidflight. They landon our backs,our warm and sweatyskin,
choosingthe scent of sunscreen
over the flowersin the far field.As our tan lines deepen
and our skin beginsto burn,as weeks and weekspass by, we come to
the same spot.
Sometimes our hair
is wet withchlorine water,other times
with fresh rain.People pass, oftenignorantof our tick and antinfested paradiseby the water.
We’re hiding,but in the open;any numberof walking trails
could lead any numberof dogs or peopleto our location,but they don’t.Our secrets aresafe, wrapped upin leaves,and towels,and melted ice creamkisses.
. . .
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About the Creator
Riel Redwolf
Hey, I'm Ri. I write things. Care to join me?
I'm pagan, neurodivergent, pansexual, afab genderfluid, and polyamorous. Expect me to write about it.
Profile image by Dylan Hikes on Unsplash, edited by me
Banner image by Celso on Unsplash
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