Ellen Hopkins

Trinity

by Ellen Hopkins

We slept, barely

touching, best friends

and I, so resplendent

in polished youth we threatened

each other’s luster, sterling

spoons in a velveteen sleeve.

No apologies, no excuses,

we three-wayed everything.

Cheat sheets and bed sheets.

French fries, Jim Beam, Humboldt green.

Kisses laced with pristine passion.

Arm in arm in arm,

we strolled barefoot along

California sidewalks, daisies braided

into our hair, buoyed

by envious stares, imposing

within the bond of trinity.

One blanket afloat

Pacific Coast sand, we oiled

unblemished bodies, offered

them up to splendid salt

air, laughing at sea breeze shivers,

the frothy tease of breaks.

Eyes closed to sun and propriety,

I was Aphrodite, one sinewy mortal

at my breast, heady with rosebud

ambrosia, another drawing nectar

from the bloom beneath my belly.

We shared without boundaries,

best friends and I, no fences

but sensation, no jealousy

within communal rhapsody,

skin upon skin upon skin.