All this beauty around us. What
are we to do with friendship? So easy-
bodied, piled together on floor or couch, we
bend, bind, brace. Her
bitten lip in mid thought. Their
baggy legged short shorts,
corduroy shirt stroke. His
collar bone become sweat slide
dew skinned in low light. Kitchen-doorway
dialogue at the party. Goddamn.
Elastic imprint on the wrist.
Fold of skin, secret space.
Guttural anything: air escape
Hair in hands—twist, tousle, tug til the scalp melts
Hurried hellos
Intellect unbridled, give me all night banter
Just a few more minutes
Jeté flawless, jeté clumsy, always
kinetic, always
kindhearted, sometimes selfish. Those
lilted hips, hobble hips, hips that sway behind the curtain
Make-your-own silent disco
No one watching
Naked neck stretching
No bras, no nipple shyness, these bodies body the way they please.
Open mouth laughing. Pose against the
plastered wall peeling. Gather all my
quotidian details. Find my
radial pulse, please, that two finger touch.
Rosemary oiling the air. Tell me a xiphoid process
sternum story. Sainted selfie on the thrifted couch.
Side boob seen through wide-armed tank top.
Trace a tattoo show-and-tell with me. Shameless
unraveled shirt hem.
Vocal fry all night.
Where to steer all this desire? Not
x-rated, just mutual
exaltation.
Yes, you–
And you. And you. And all our
zipless admiration. This, the
zenith of platonic desire.

Danielle Garland (she/her) is a writer, science communicator, and feeding therapist from southern Appalachia who spends time thinking about grief, the intimacy of movement, and the fragility of narrative. Her work has been previously published or is upcoming in Ninth Letter, The Inflectionist Review, Empty House Press, Susurrus Magazine, and others. Find her on Instagram @_daniellegarland