By Lexi Deeter
I count my breaths
hanging in the air like fairy lights,
his face before mine,
sweet and hazy as the summer skyline.
The edge of the falls,
water running swiftly
as we once ran,
my fingers aching to dance
in that great rush,
to be drowned, tumbled into sand.
How long ago did I tell him
we would weather what we must?
Can’t say, only sway in and out
of his favor to the rhythm
of your trust. My head is spinning, gently,
a promise: I can’t remember us beginning.
I count his breaths,
faster now,
my thoughts washing him out,
pulling you back in somehow:
The edge of the falls,
the water running swifter, still calling,
if we need to swim, we’ll swim,
but I am quickly falling,
faster now, towards the sweet, hazy deep,
my fingers dancing, aching
for the purchase of surface
till the sorrow of it pulls me from sleep.
Lexi Deeter is a student at Olin College of Engineering. Her love for poetry was encouraged in no small part by her grandfather, Larry Heer. She writes to unravel the stories that shape her. Her work has previously appeared in Eunoia Review and Iceblink Lit.
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