LESBIANS IN THE SOUTH CAN ONLY LOVE AT NIGHT

In the stickiness of the Texas summer,
I lick a bead of sweat
from your greasy, salty flesh
and as the thunder cracks beyond the horizon
I follow the path the sweat would have rolled
down your chest and abdomen,
reveling in the shiver of your skin
and the quaking of your limbs,
as the lightning flashes,
obscuring the moonlight,
in favor of, for a brief moment,
illuminating our bodies
dripping from the humidity,
melting into one another
before surrendering our images
back to the fading dusk.

Emily Ramser is the poetry editor for Weasel Press. She writes a lot about being gay and how it’s shaped her life. Her most recent book, UHaul: A Collection of Lesbian Love Poems, is a coming out story told through love poems. She lives in North Carolina currently, but is preparing, for some reason, to move to Texas for graduate school.