The Park

A poem written from two perspectives.

1.

You, looking for the perfect spot.
Me, just wanting to lay down with you.

Soft breathing.
Warm bodies.
Sunshine.

Too warm, the sun, for you.
We move.

You, looking for the perfect spot.
Me, just wanting to lie down with you.

Heart rate dropping.
Knees touching.
Bodies turned.
Facing each other.

Comfortable conversation.
My mind delighted.
My soul still craving.

Shall I?
Can I?

Not yet.
A more basic need arises.
Impossible to ignore for long.

I get up. Go. Come back.
We switch positions.
Not like that.

My backpack now your pillow.
Your sweatshirt, mine.

Uncomfortable. My chance.
I ask.
You open.

Your chest, my pillow.
Your arms, my armor.
My soul, smiling.

2.

He looks around, questioning.
She looks at him.

Lying in the sun.
She’s soaking up the light like parched soil taking in the rain.
Recharging.

He’s holding up his sweatshirt as if he’s playing hide-and-seek.
Too warm.

They get up.
He looks around, analyzing.
She looks at him.

On to a new spot,
right underneath me.

Her body turns toward him.
His follows her lead.
Knees softly touching.

I aim and release.
A leaf gently caresses her face.
So does he, now.

Stillness. Conversation.
Until she gets up, goes, comes back.
They switch positions.
No, not like that.

Her backpack becomes his pillow.
His sweatshirt, hers.

Or not?

Upright again.
Contemplation on her face.

She speaks.
He replies.
She lies down again.

His chest, her pillow.
Only stillness now.