On the dark, dew drenched lawn, The Beautiful One's fingernails scratch my skin. She laughs, "I'm not lesbian." Sure, just don't stop kissing me. Your fingers entwined in my hair, your hip bones grinding against mine, I run my hands across the ridges of your spine. This is perfection. You are perfect.
"I'm just drunk."
So am I.
"Promise me, you won't tell anyone?"
I love you.