Blackberries and the boy

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Words are bitter blackberries in my mouth,
Trickling down my throat before settling there where they grow
Vines twisting into me and the thorns are pressing against my skin
To the point where it
Hurts
When he touches me.

Palms pressed against my skin,
Peaches are my checks cradled in your hands.
I can feel the ripeness in them when you say something and it makes me laugh.
Your thumb pressing into the single dimple in my cheek as my grin is a watermelon rind.

My skin is soft, supple, and easy to bruise,
I can feel your teeth skimming the surface.
I can smell the summers sweat on your breath.

Bittersweet.



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