Alligator Point

On the way to Alligator Point

our skin sticks to the faux leather.

In the backseat of Kate’s Prius,

I press one fingertip to yours,

your body’s heat

unbearable otherwise.

Strip malls and auto shops squat

under drooping live oaks.

Give way to scrub forest,

longleafs and needle palms.

Gray-green waves jab pyramidally at the sky.

Our bodies, buoyant, slide between.

I place grapes in your mouth with wet hands.

Sweet tang salty bite.

Rain smears the horizon, forming a bruise.

Drops pelt our skin as we race to the car,

asphalt still warm underfoot.