Thistle, Grass, Flower

I think summer, I think you.

You, this body. This, this body.

Here, summer. Here, tongue.

I think repetitions repetitiously and wonder

if cicadas know the word

caesura. I think grass and thistle and glass,

a violence in the play of yellow wildflowers 

and super blooms of intimacy and care

holding your head close to my knee

What’s the line if there’s a there there,

there here with us, now, here.  The play

of body and the play of this yellow wildflower

tucked away behind a year, your ear, under fabric,

a pantyline, the way sun plays on tiny hairs where 

I put another flower here below a tattoo of an arrow

below your  arm – a towel thrown across 

grass across your body and mine.

Words by Nik De Dominic

Photographer: Nora Lowinsky
Models: Olivia North & Chula Vet
Underwear: Stella McCartney