skipping beats
—
This is a divine darkness that they pulse back and forth between them. The goosebumps that run a circle around her nipple when she imagines her name in his mouth. The open window of his voice that she wants to crawl inside when seeking shelter. The slick fingers that make their insistent way inside her. All these shared whispers that swirl like hurricanes; she longs to cram them into a glass bottle, later smashing it to smithereens when it’s time to break this silence.
He lives on the ocean floor. She braids cinder blocks into her hair. 
image & text © Jennifer Summer 2015