your name tastes like the ocean in my mouth
the highest arch of green smoothed by sun
then            white foam fizzing out
snapping bubbles kiss my ankles
you go on for miles
if I think about you and nothing else
I can taste you whenever I want

my lungs   s  t  r  e  t  c  h
tight with air like a balloon
when you bite my lip
blood stains like cherry juice on cheeks
sometimes my eyes fog over and we are shapes
I am not scared

I fell in love with you in the dark
your eyes rimmed in golden stars
your white light burns my fingertips
no one has told the kites in my stomach to
settle down I am

Danielle Eleanor (she/her) lives in Philadelphia, where she works in academic publishing, goes for a lot of weirdly long walks, and writes, usually on her roof. You can read more of her work in The Nervous BreakdownThe Year of Yellow Butterflies, FLURT Magazine, and the Rutgers Writers House websiteFind her on Twitter @dea17_.