the colour of lust

August

We follow the path by the lake, water lapping, glittering in bright sunlight but we keep to the shade.

Late summer heat beating down makes our skin slippery, even in shadows, sweat beading along your lower back where your t-shirt sticks, slick in the hollows between our breasts, at the backs of our knees.

The breeze stirs the hem of my dress and I press my body to yours.
“Taste this.”
We feed each other berries picked from brambles by the wayside, our fingers turning purple.
Under a wild apple tree, heavy with unripe fruit, you kiss me with lips the colour of lust.
I can taste the blackberries on your tongue.