May 24 short camping justwrite

The skin between your teeth is glowing in the dark, and I plant mushrooms in your footprints and tell stories about growing in shadows but really just want to remember where you've ben so I can find my way back to the intersection of our identities, where the sand beneath them is crossed out and I dance chalky fingerprints up your arms like lace. There are moments when I can only hear wind. There are moments when the blood pressing tides against my eardrums sounds like the ocean, the salty water I poured onto my bruises, trying to wash myself back into myself, wash off the sweat of strangers. Minnows dash by my feet, silver shooting stars, coins falling like a wish into a fountain. Their lips are tickling my toes. You catch them in your teeth, laughing, your mouth swallowing the sky and everything below it in one gulp.