Contributor: J. L. Smith

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We tasted the bubbles at dawn,
when the air was thick with August heat,
musty sweat.

Our tongues touched the soap,
but we shook off the cleanliness
for the taste of earth,
dew that dripped off our limbs,
tangled in embrace,
aftermath of raw desire.

Bubbles,
floating above our head high,
popping,
escaping to the sky above,
never to return again.


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J.L. has published two collections of poetry: Medusa, The Lost Daughter and Weathered Fragments. Follow her on Twitter @jennifersmithak