by Victoria Tracy
Slaughter Beach, Dog is playing through your speaker, and you are handing
me a beer after another monotonous day. I am delicately holding
your head against my chest, running my fingers across your skin.
I did not know goodness was tangible until I met you,
but here you are, standing in the refrigerator light, radiating soft gold.
We are sitting cross-legged on your back porch with
condensation clinging to the bottles in our palms. Birds are
bouncing between the trees, and the air is tainted with Citronella.
The summer breeze smells like home.
White sheets are tangled under our legs. Your hair is tousled, wild.
The room is hazy. Light has not yet peaked through
your half-shut blinds. You are asking where we will be in 5 years,
and I am smiling, gently. There is no need to rush.
Today, the world can wait.
This love is a peaceful hum, barely making enough noise to
break the comfortable silence, but always there, buzzing lightly.
We are on the back porch again. There is tequila in your glass, vodka in mine.
A soft ‘darling’ slips between your teeth. My breathing is slowed.
The stars are loosely hanging above us. We are watching them float
through the galaxy, hand in hand.
This is such a peaceful way for the world to end.
Victoria Tracy is an emerging poet from Raleigh, NC. Her work has been featured in Furious Lit’s Tell Me a Story anthology. When she is not writing, Victoria spends her time reading horror novels and hanging out with her cat. Follow her on instagram @torietracy.
