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rose quartz magazine
Cagnes, 1925
I
Red wine.
Blood orange.
Sky as deep as heaven.
Our dresses on the floor,
fingers sliding
through wet flesh,
hibiscus blooming pink on white.
Sweet citrus,
cool on my tongue.
II
You call them kisses -
the moment the peacock
opens its tail feathers,
when the shimmering sun rises
through the waters of the Mediterranean,
when a peach bursts in your mouth,
sweet and warm and sticky
with sugar.
I call them by another name.
But no matter. We stumble together,
half naked to the bed.
Cool sheets and a soft breeze.
Your kisses blind me.
Elodie Rose Barnes
Elodie Rose Barnes is a queer writer, reader and traveler, originally from the UK. She has tried her hand at a number of things across the globe, from legal secretary in Newcastle to yoga teacher in the Bahamas, before settling on the job titles of 'wordsmith in training’ and ‘planetary explorer’. She now splits most of her time between England, France, and Spain, and can often be found indulging her tea addiction with a pen or book in hand. You can find her on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BarnesElodie.
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