At the first moment in July,
our backs are pockmarked from your driveway’s
uninterred pavement.  We celebrate
in the midnight stillness, lying among
our own whispers that stick to the humidity,
like summer arms embraced too long.

We carve spaces in the saturated air,
like stones pressed by bare feet
into a Spring-softened creek bed.
The night’s thickness keeps us a comfortable
distance apart, close enough that I feel
the hairs on your arm tickling mine,
so far I cannot hear your anxious heartbeat.

Our words are exhausted, shared
between both of us, except for the I love you
you swallow like a lemonade ice cube
that melts in your throat.  Instead you thank me

for my presence here, gift enough for you.
I peel my back from the ground, cool
around our silhouettes, warm
in my form next to you.  I feel
tiny pebbles that cling to my skin, your eyes
on the nooks where larger ones dug.