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blackberry stains tanned skin,

the periphery of sickly sweet.

days stretch languidly, billowing

wider as the fans blows the sweat from your

brow

sleep an unwelcome stranger,

vocalised thoughts seem

to have more solidity than the dreams that drip from

my

tongue,

sunlight on our shoulders, the stars spilled

across your lips.

heat was always distasteful to me, ironic since the

air was charred upon my birth,

yet the warmth of your breath against my ear,

fingers

and valleys and mountains intertwined feels right.

‘love?’

blurred by hesitation and doubt.

perishes on my tongue

you made me lust for the fever, the burn

scorched skin.

maybe this is it,

love tastes like summer berries.

by Nia