Poet: Megan Bell
I cradle you like a babe, your cheek resting on my breast,
legs entwined like roots desperately wanting to bloom,
your crotch, hard, full, of life and lust, teasing my thigh.
I trace my fingers up your neck, drag them down,
painting a picture of what we could be.
I inhale. You retreat, then repeat.
Our clothes and morals stand in our way.
And though this dance is one we love,
it is a façade of meaningful nothings, an illusion of intimacy,
for what we want we cannot have.
Megan Bell is an amateur writer studying BA Creative Writing at the University of Brighton. Her works include several short scripts and poems inspired by the lessons she is learning as a young adult and influenced by her close friends and family. Alongside her studies, she is in the process of collating her teenage works that focus on mental health, sexuality and self-growth into an anthology that she hopes will be published one day.