I am afraid to get too close. As if it is catching, and I want to be caught.

Your two bodies: silver. Buoyant. As if the moon pulls you to the top of the water, and you are suspended there, gleaming against the speckled sky.

I stay close to the shore, turning worn, smooth pebbles with my toes. I try to turn my head away, to not watch. Fireflies flit by, small sparks against the navy night. Three’s a crowd, I think. And I want to be crowded.

I have a boy at home. We know each others bodies, each others scents. Sweet and familiar. Ancient. The heat has dissipated, has burnt off into the atmosphere. Replaced by warmth, not heat. Steady. Sturdy.

But these curves, these curls.

In the daytime, you two sneak off to slip into each other, and I secretly pout. I want to feel the dark and hidden places, the softest tangles. I wrap myself in a book instead, in a slow inhale of smoke, in a sweet cup of coffee. We are here, we are here.

In my dreams, the taste of your mouths, all ocean and milk. Your riptide eyes, dragging me in. No rocks beneath my feet, just the sweet current, seaweed hair. Caught.