Flash back to our first summer when our incongruity was still unknown. I licked the beach salt from your neck and the waves jumped as let you in. Now, we’re becoming strangers here. Tonight, for the first time in months you tell me you love me before you’re done. We’ve lost time for love among schedules and kids and quickies. Love can snuff and rekindle so quickly because when I come, I go to the tropic heat that you stirred in my body that summer we were strangers, but I never had to wonder. Marriage brings certainty to a halt and in our lovemaking, all I can do is cling to the salt on my lips from tasting you.
Jessica Araujo (she/her) is a queer Dominican American made in the tropics, raised in NJ. She writes fiction, poetry, essays, and protection spells in between teaching College Writing and Spiritual Self-Care. Find her reading tarot, striking a yoga pose, or hosting a workshop at @CouraJess_One or www.embodycourage.com