a white linen dress
similar to the undergarments
of ladies far back in history
perfect to haunt the bog in
I let you notice
it's the only thing on me
and step outside
the breeze on my skin
tingling
you follow as I run
over streams and puddles
fine fabric catching moisture
feet covered in soil
I run to reach that spot we love
in the shade
a soft patch of moss
what coincidence
you've caught me right there
and we're a tumbling mess
of sweat and dirt
and steaming breaths
the hungriest touch
two bodies
nothing else
© coldscars