Wetlands

maybe you are the
final frontier and i am
an island floating

on its back towards
whatever shore is within
closest. (this is so

similar to the
way you curl into me like
galathée to its

resting floor) i touch
my mouth to your collarbone
the same way i spoke

to myself in the
dark as a child—too soft, and
far too sweet. i think

your body is a
world i will never unlearn,
even after we

grow dry and sunder
from each other, as though we
had never been green.

Imaani Cain is an emerging writer from New England. Her work is forthcoming in or has been published in Talking Writing, cahoodaloodaling, and Gone Lawn.

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