when i think of Pink i think of Your tongue.
i think of Your saliva, warm, clean, great for when we’re eager,
slipping on and slipping in, pink places and pink things.
i think of Your lips, and the way they touch mine,
blushing and kissing before crossing the line,
re-dressing with You after pressing with You,
and the cold of the drives where i’m left without You.
Pink is my brain when it’s smashed like my car,
wrapped around a pillar of stone mixed with tar,
with bits on the ground, every cell tinged with You,
the last thing i thought was it’s hard to be without You.
i play with the stereo like a nervous kid with a toy,
when the station may be perfect but i can’t not be coy,
i promise i’m not like this with every single boy.
if boys must be blue well i’m green, i envy You.
how i long to be pink in denim trousers with You.
with blue ink on my hands and red towels in my closet,
come over my Angel, there’s room in my rocket.
off to the stars with these chains on our necks,
we’ll find Your key first,
then mine can be next.
‘he made me weak’
i didn’t know what people meant by that until You kissed me. It was as if suddenly the only sensation worth feeling was in the place that my body met Yours. i could just about drop to the floor from exhaustion, but keeping myself upright with all my energy, so just maybe i’d never part from You – mattered so much more.
and now we’re at the beach.
You’re down in water, i’m here
with the sand in my journal
and i’ve been staring at You.
i’ve seen every drop of water
that’s fallen from Your shoulders.
i’m suddenly at peace with my human body
and how it can’t fall so easily from You.
You walk up the beach
put Yourself between i and the sun –
and i’ve never felt so golden
while in somebody’s shadow.
fresh out the water
licking ripples of Your ribcage
tasting like the sea.
i wonder how much joy
this boy could truly feel with me.
touch this it’s for You only.
lift my head like a weight on Your clavicle.
salty and blue-veined,
my tongue from base to tip.
right here i make a home
my head against Your hip.
and there’s leeches in the seafoam, they’re living in the warmth. maybe we should run and let them die. but we think we’re leeches too – leeches in the foam, so who would we be if we left them
Jackson is a Meanjin based non-binary poet that’s made it their mission to see queer representation become commonplace in Australian writing. Jackson has been published proudly in InkBlot Magazine’s Hot & Sweaty 2021 edition, and QUT Glass Issue #11. Keep up with them at the QUT Literary Salon, by reading the ScratchThat newsletters, or on Instagram.