Easter
He looks at me differently, like he found something he lost
But he also kisses me now, hands roaming and eyes glossed
Our hands are clasped and our breathing is hushed
Our tongues explore each other, they can’t get enough
I can feel his skin ripple under my fingernails
And his supple lips pressed against my neck
The weight of his body is neither heavy nor light
Our angles fit perfectly, it seems just right
His hips match my rhythm and I can see it in his eyes
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me, I’m sure. I think.
I hope.
September Nights
The way you smile at me makes my chest feel heavy
I struggle to breathe often around you
The way you look at me makes me forget
Just for a second
I am not what you want
And the way I run reminds you that
Perhaps
I am what you need
But you don’t chase me
You stand there, solemn, and watch me go
The Hunt
I lose myself tangled in your web
I drink so that I cannot feel your eyes
But I do
You lose yourself when you are stuck to me
You remember that you are not this person
You do not take advantage of humans like this
At least I would like to think so
I lose myself in the thought of you
Everyone tells me you do it on purpose
I want to believe in you so bad I let you use me
But then, maybe I use you too
We hide in each other
We are searching for something
You know that what you are looking for is not with me
And I hope that what I am looking for is not with you
Brianna Williams is a poetry and prose writer based in Cincinnati, Ohio. She has several published work in East Fork Journal. Williams is currently studying at the University of Cincinnati, focusing her craft in fiction writing on themes of romance and the Black identity.