October 2021

by Robert Beveridge

The sound of salt

on your skin keeps 

my ear pressed against you.

Slow, crackled tang

as the sea air worships 

you with brine. The sun 

against your flesh darkens, 

evens freckles, spreads 

them over you

maple jelly from my fingers

alone, or with me

you sunbathe nude

when you wear the white swimsuit in public there's not much difference

that is to say

I love your curves wrapped 

in white transparency

I love that people stare at you

and whisper

I love that all my friends desire you

I love that you will let me

taste the sea's salt

on your thighs

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