(no subject)

The Potomac River without Clothes

In the water, without clothes
my body is less defined
by edges—
puckered river grass
brushes over the round parts of me
to say this shape is just an outline.

We swim to where the current pulls
our bodies into diagonal lines; bending us
downstream like italics of ourselves.
We share cigarettes, our damp fingers
ruining them, the pale tops of our breasts
swelling just above the water’s surface
in after-school light.

We move more carefully
without any clothes, stay lower
in the water. It is a long time
and the sky is woven tighter,
before we are ready
to pull on clothing over wet river skin,
turning our backs to each other
once again.